CheckMate

This eBook is published by Fictionwise Publications www.fictionwise.com Excellence in eBooks Visit www.fictionwise.com to find more titles by this and other top authors in Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Mystery, and other genres.

This eBook copyrighted. See the first page of this book for full copyright information.

Alinar Publishing www.alinarpublishing.com Copyright ©2007 by Kallysten First published in 2007, 2007 NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

Checkmate Kallysten

Copyright © 2007 Kallysten All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published June 2005 Second Edition June 2007 All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Edited by Maria Morpeth

Cover by Kallysten ISBN 1-906023-27-1 978-1-906023-27-0

To Zoë, for her patient help, unwavering support and incredible enthusiasm

Prologue It would be their first big battle since he and Peter had graduated from the academy and taken Don as their resident wizard, and Vincent could feel his heart ready to break free of his chest from the excitement. They had been tracking the vampire clan for several weeks, gathering as much information as they could and preparing for what promised to be their break-through moment. As Special Enforcers, they were paid by the number of vampires they killed each night, but they knew they had to make a name for themselves if they wanted the police to call them rather than other Enforcers when confronted with a nest of vamps. The previous night, they had finally obtained a location for the clan's lair—the catacombs on the east of Haventown. They had spent the day coming up with a plan, finding a map of the catacombs, devising a way for Don to guide them through the maze from a distance, readying their weapons. Now, it was about to start. Don's light winked into existence in front of them and immediately plunged through the entrance. Peter followed, and then Vincent, each of them carrying a stake in one hand and a crossbow in the other with more weapons hidden on their bodies. Don was in a van parked a couple of streets away, his eyes on the map as he chanted his spell to guide the light through the labyrinth-like tunnels. The light was strong enough that they could see a few feet in front of them, but as the narrow tunnels turned and branched, it didn't really help much. It wouldn't take long, from what they had figured out, before they got there. A few minutes to the central room, and there the two of them would fight and kill the twelve to fifteen vampires that constituted Nathanael's clan—according to the information they had gathered from a nicely talkative vamp. It was more than they had ever fought at once, but they would have the advantage of surprise, and they had trained hard for this. The vampire at the head of the clan was famous amongst Special Enforcers, almost a legend for having eluded all attempts to kill him. It would be the most wonderful start for Vincent and his friends. They couldn't have dreamed of a better way to make their names known. Their adventure had begun almost two years earlier, during senior year in high school, when Vincent had first confided to Don that he intended to enroll in the academy after graduation. He had never explained why, but he knew Don had guessed Vincent's decision was linked to his mother's death. Don had been excited for him, and had instantly offered his services as wizard. A few months younger than Vincent, he had only just begun learning how to use his talent, but by the time Vincent had graduated from the academy and talked Peter into working with them, he had been an excellent—and licensed—magic practitioner.

"We're close,” Peter whispered, turning back to Vincent for a second when the light blinked twice, the signal that they were approaching. They usually communicated with Don through cell phones during their missions, but the signal was too poor under ground. “Ready?" Vincent nodded and grinned, getting a smile back in return. All their training at the academy, all their real-life but low profile fights from the past five months had led them to this precise instant, when they entered the lair and ... found an empty cave like room. Or rather, almost empty. "You kids took your sweet time. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show." The woman's voice sounded bored, but also tinted with amusement. Both Peter and Vincent followed the sound to face her. She was leaning against the bare rock that formed the far side wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She pushed herself away from the wall as Vincent moved into fighting position, to the side and two steps behind Peter, and she stepped toward them, blatantly ignoring the two crossbows pointed at her. Of medium height, she was slim but the tight leather pants and fitted shirt she wore revealed more than they hid her body. The heels of her boots clicked on the stone ground as she approached. She had tied back her dark hair, away from her face. She would have been a beautiful woman, if she hadn't been a vampire. "You two are new to the game, obviously,” she began speaking again, when she stopped a few yards from them. “See, if you ask questions about Nathanael to every vamp you meet, he's going to hear about it. And how long do you think it'll take him to get annoyed?" "Why should we care?” Peter shot, holding his crossbow steady as he took a step toward her. “Tell us where he is." "You should care,” she replied, nonplussed, “because I don't like him annoyed. My Sire can be a right bastard when he is, so I do my best to make sure he stays happy." When she said ‘Sire', something clicked in Vincent's mind and he remembered some of the extra information he had discovered about Nathanael's vampire family, and recognized the woman from a portrait he had seen in a book. "That's Hélène de Saint Simon,” he informed Peter urgently. “She's a strong—" Before he knew what was happening, the vampire was in motion, faster than any opponent he had fought before. With one kick of her foot, his crossbow went flying through the room. He barely had the time to see the short blade in her right hand; then it slashed in his direction, twice, and pain erupted along Vincent's cheek where she had cut him. The stake he had held clattered to the floor as he cried out and brought his hand to the cut, finding his face covered in blood already. "My name,” she said coolly, stepping back, “is Lilia. You'd do well to remember it during the five minutes you have left to live." After a quick look at Vincent to make sure he would be all right, Peter shot an arrow at the woman, but she effortlessly evaded it. Abandoning the crossbow, Peter lunged forward and attacked with a stake in both hands. Vincent watched them, one hand still pressed to his face, the other grasping at his belt to find another stake that he clutched hard, waiting for the right moment to jump into the fight and help Peter. It

was all going so fast though; it was hard to intervene without risking hurting his friend. The fight seemed fairly balanced, except for the fact that Peter never came close to being able to touch her. Just as Vincent was about to finally step in, Don's light wavered and then vanished altogether, throwing the room into total darkness. Vincent's training kicked in and he concentrated on the sounds echoing in the room, but the noise of his own blood thundering in his ears drowned out everything else. There were some shuffling feet in front of him on the right, where Peter had been, but no other sound until the light finally returned and he shouted. In front of him, Lilia was cradling Peter's body to her, her mouth to his jugular, a trail of blood sliding past her lips. Judging by the angle of his head and the blank look in his eyes, Peter was already dead. She licked her lips as she let him go and he fell to the ground like an oversized rag doll. With a yell, Vincent ran at her, stake ready and his bloody hand closed in a tight fist. She avoided his attack easily, and even laughed when he tried and failed again. "Tell you what, kiddie,” she snickered, pulling back. “Learn how to fight, and then we'll do that again when you've got half a chance of even touching me. Right now, it would be too easy to kill you. It wouldn't even amuse me." "Don't you dare walk away!” Vincent shouted, starting after her. “Come back and fight, you ... you..." His voice failed him as he reached the tunnel entrance through which she had just disappeared. The ball of light couldn't reach that far and it remained stationary in the center of the room. If he followed her, he would be blind. As Peter had been when she had killed him. Coming back to where his friend lay, Vincent wiped blood and tears from his face with the back of his hand, barely aware of the still-throbbing pain in his cheek. Falling to his knees by Peter's side, he reached out with a trembling hand and gently closed his friend's eyes, quietly promising that he would avenge his death and kill Lilia.

Chapter 1 "Be sure to wait for my signal, OK?" Don didn't seem very convinced. “Are you sure this is a good idea? If it doesn't work..." "Are you telling me you can't do it?” Vincent cut in. They had had this conversation before, and he trusted Don's abilities. Don's hesitation was what made him wary. "I can do it, I'm just not sure it's a good plan. You'll have to fend off the vamp from the moment you send the signal to the moment the spell takes effect, and it's going to be dangerous." Suppressing a sigh, Vincent tried to keep his voice even as he replied. Once upon a time, Don had been as excited about practicing magic as Vincent himself was about staking vamps; things had changed, and one of these days Vincent would need to accept it and let his friend pull back as he had wanted to for so long. It would be a pity, because Don was great at what he did; his spells had helped Vincent out of a number of tight situations over the years. Vincent didn't know where he would find someone to replace him when he finally let his friend quit.

"I've been fighting vamps for seven years, Don. I'll be able to keep one at bay until it becomes friendlier. As long as you do the spell, everything will be fine." With a slight shake of his head, Don sat down on the floor of the van, a book in front of him, his bag of supplies on his right, his cell phone on the left. "Go ahead, then. The faster we're done here, the faster I can go home. Jeanie must be waiting for me by now. You've got the crystal?" Patting his pocket, Vincent nodded. “Everything will be fine,” he repeated, then stepped out and closed the back door. As soon as he had let go of the door's handle, the entire vehicle shimmered with the standard protection spell. To anyone passing by, the already unremarkable van would look totally innocuous and unworthy of interest, so that nothing would distract Don when he started the spell. It had happened, once, seven years before, a few months after they had started working together. At the time, Don didn't systematically charm the van before an operation. A random thief had tried to steal the vehicle, startling Don enough that he had thrown the wrong ingredient into the wooden salad bowl he insisted on calling his ‘cauldron'. As a result, the guiding light that had been helping Vincent and their partner fight inside the catacombs had winked out of existence; they had lost Peter that night. Don had been blaming himself ever since, and his love of magic had disappeared. The only reason he still helped Vincent was his guilt over Peter's death, and his fear that not helping would result in Vincent's death, too. Firmly putting past tragedies out of his mind, Vincent instinctively ran his fingers over the lining of his jacket, checking by touch that the stakes, cross and vials of holy water were all in place in their loops and easily accessible. At the academy, he had learned to use crossbows and blades too, but with practice he had come to realize that the simpler weapons worked best for him. The short leather jacket he wore concealed his entire arsenal as he strode through the cemetery, giving him, at first sight, a non-threatening appearance, but it never slowed his hand when he needed to reach for one of the weapons. Years of experience had made sure of that. The same experience now guided him through the graveyard, as silent as the creature he hunted, a shadow melding into the night around him from his heavy boots to his black hair. The only reason he wasn't mistaken for a vampire himself was his skin, a shade lighter than aged bronze, a gift of genetics that the many hours he spent indoors during the day did nothing to lighten. The cemetery was the oldest in town, and tended to perfection. The grass was cut regularly, the centennial trees trimmed, their dead wood and fallen leaves removed, the tombstones aligned in perfect rows. He found the grave he was looking for easily enough; he had been there earlier in the day, an anonymous mourner amongst many others. The kid had been well liked, a freshman athlete at the local college, often partying but never in trouble. The police thought that he had accidentally allowed a vampire inside his home during one of these parties. Vincent had another theory, based on the fact that the kid's extended family had counted seven powerful mages, wizards and seers in the past half-century, but he had no proof. At least, not yet. If all went well, he would have all the information he needed before the end of the night. The ground at the foot of the elaborate tombstone was undisturbed, and Vincent had made sure it would remain so. The kid's body had needed to be intact for the viewing and funeral, the bite marks carefully camouflaged, but after that ... Funeral directors understood the necessities of Vincent's job even when families couldn't. He couldn't stake a vampire before having proof that it killed humans to feed, but the law remained undefined on the taking of steps to prevent a new vampire from rising. He only exploited

the gray areas of his job when he had reasons to think a new vampire would join a group of killers, though. In this case, he had had good reasons. All he needed to do now was to wait. And unless he was completely mistaken, Nathanael's lackey would soon be there. Part of him hoped it would be Lilia; he still owed her for that scar across his cheek. And for Peter. **** Don hated waiting like this, hated not knowing what was happening on the field. He was certain, deep down, that Vincent knew what he was doing. They had both come a long way since their first mistake and its deadly results. But the fear was always there that something could go wrong, terribly wrong out there, and Don wouldn't know it until it was too late. It was the first time he would do this particular spell, but he had memorized the ingredients, quantities and words he would need for it. His nervousness however demanded that he refresh his memory one last time. Opening the book in front of him, he quietly read the instructions, pulling the jars out of his bag as he did so, and aligning them neatly in the order he would need them. His cell phone rang and he nearly jumped; he hadn't expected the call to be so soon. Had Vincent encountered trouble? Was it... A cursory glance at the phone screen as he reached for the first ingredient made him pause; the number wasn't Vincent's, it was Jeanie's. With a small frown, he picked up the phone. "Hi honey. I can't talk to you right..." She didn't let him finish. “And when can you talk to me? Do I have to make an appointment? I thought I had, for that matter." His eyes widening, he stifled a growl. She had indeed mentioned in the morning that she wanted to talk about something important that night, but it had skipped his mind when Vincent dropped by the bookstore Don owned. "I didn't forget, I prom—" "Then why did I come home to find a message on the answering machine saying you had to go out on a work gig with Vincent?" The way her voice quivered on the last word, Don could tell that it would be another one of those talks, and she would try to convince him yet again that he ought to stop working with his friend. He knew her arguments already, he had heard them many times, and had even used them himself while trying to talk Vincent into finding another wizard to help him. He had a business to run, and being called at all hours of the day or night didn't help; he didn't practice magic regularly enough to be completely ready at a moment's notice; he had stopped enjoying the art years before. All of it, though, paled in front of one simple fact. "Vincent is the only real friend I ever had,” he said, calm but strong. “I made a promise to him when he decided to become an Enforcer and I can't let him down. Especially not now. I will make it up to you, Jeanie, I swear." The cell phone chose that moment to beep, indicating that another call was on the line, and this time the

number showed that it was Vincent calling. Giving his signal. Grimacing, Don grabbed the cauldron with his free hand and put it in front of him before reaching for the first jar. "Love, I've got to go now,” he said as gently as he could. “We can talk about this later, all right?" For a moment, only silence answered him, and Don paused what he was doing, listening more intently. "Jeanie?" "I'm sorry,” she said at last. “I didn't call to talk about Vincent. I want to talk about us. I love you." Don smiled despite himself. “Love you too, sweetie. And we can talk about it later, whatever it is, I promise. Just let me finish here, OK?" Still one handed, he continued adding ingredients to be ready to add the last one and pronounce the incantation as soon as he hung up the phone. But Jeanie startled him enough when she spoke next that he dropped the full bag of willow bark into the cauldron rather than the three pieces he ought to have used. "Marriage, Don. That's what I want to talk about." "Marriage?” he squeaked, and a flash of blinding light enveloped him. **** Lilia was still a hundred yards or so from her goal when she saw him and knew that things wouldn't go as planned. There was no mistaking that silhouette, a tall, lean man wearing a leather jacket even though the night wasn't particularly cold, one hand in the jacket's pocket, the other taking the red pinpoint of a cigarette to his lips and away in regular movements. No mistaking his scent either, when a light breeze carried it to Lilia. They had fought too often in the past for her not to recognize Vincent Jordan instantly. Too often, also, for her not to know that Nathanael would be pissed off. If Jordan was there, it undoubtedly meant that the clan's newest recruit was dust already. There went the power Nathanael had been counting on. Oh yes. Pissed off would not even begin to cover what Nath would be. If there was one thing Lilia had learned in the last seventeen decades from living with her Sire, it was that messengers usually deeply regretted bearing bad news. She had experienced it herself more than once already, her status as favorite Childe had never protected her from Nathanael's fits of blind rage, and she had no wish to repeat the experience. That was why she continued to advance rather than return to the catacombs and report on this unexpected development. If she brought Nathanael good news along with the bad, such as a promise that Jordan wouldn't be a problem ever again, she might be rewarded rather than punished. The so-called Special Enforcer had been after the clan for years, and he had killed a fair share of minions during that time, as well as Nathanael's second-oldest Childe. More than once, he had ruined Nathanael's plans to cement his hold over the town, although Lilia suspected that at least three instances had been coincidences and Jordan was unaware of the damage he had inflicted. She would definitely get a reward for this, she told herself as she approached. And she wouldn't mind either finally fulfilling the promise she had made the boy years earlier when they had first met.

"You know these things will kill, don't you?” she commented, gesturing to the cigarette Jordan had just thrown to the ground, when only a few feet were left between them. His lips curled into a smile that seemed more feral than amused and he brought a hand to his heart in a dramatic gesture. "I'm touched, Lilia. I'd never have thought you cared about my health." She returned the smirk, as she started moving sideways, circling him. "Of course I care, Jordan. After all, you're mine to kill, remember?" He kept pace with her, so that he wouldn't present her his more vulnerable side or back, and that brought his face exactly at the right angle for the sliver of moon that hung low in the sky to reveal his features. From the corner of his left eye down to the middle of his cheek and then perpendicularly toward his jaw, a L-shaped silvery line ran over his skin. She had put it there herself, and the sight of it never failed to make her grin in self-satisfaction. "You were too pretty,” she mused aloud as she rolled her shoulders in preparation of the fight. “You looked like a boy with that angelic face of yours. Now you look like a man." On the last word, she attacked, leaping forward toward him. Her fist met only air; Jordan had, predictably, jumped back to his left. It was always his left. The habit would cost him dearly, some day. Maybe even tonight. "Iam a man, Lilia,” he shot back, and she could hear the edge in his voice, could see the reawakening anger in his icy blue eyes. It was an old trick, one she had used many times before, but as always, she had touched a nerve. It was almost too easy. "You're still a child, Jordan,” she said indulgently, giving all appearances of being relaxed when in reality she was entirely focused on him. “You were a child when we first met, and you're still a child today." Her eyes followed his hand inside his jacket where he retrieved a stake. Her ears strained for his breathing and heartbeat, trying to detect the telltale variation that would predict he was about to move. As for his scent, it was a mix of controlled anger and strong determination, with that usual accent of lust that always came up when they fought. Ignoring her taunt, he brusquely ran toward her, stake raised and ready. They had fought so often that she knew all his moves, and she had guessed even before he had reached her which way he would attack. She parried the stake easily with a blow to his arm, and lashed out at his middle with her foot. Again, he escaped to the left, and she almost growled in frustration—not because she had missed, but rather because he wasn't playing at his best level. They had danced like this before, a dozen times or so, and this was the worst he had ever fought. It was almost as though he weren't really trying to kill her. "Still a little boy,” she continued, practically spitting the words as they both attacked at the same time. The exchange of blows that followed yielded little results on either side and they fell back again. “You think you're a warrior, a hunter, but—" For an instant so brief Lilia thought she had imagined it, the air seemed to ripple around them, almost shimmer. And suddenly everything became blindingly obvious.

The many times they had fought without ever coming to a deathblow for either of them. The banter that always served as prelude to their fights. The lust that came off him when they started trading blows. Her own arousal, always more intense than during any other fight. Her irritation when he didn't fight well enough, to the risk of letting her kill him. Her pride at having marked him as hers with that scar. All of it made sense in that second of clarity, and she couldn't pretend anymore. Dropping her arms, she looked at him and, for the first time in ages, truly, sincerelyhoped . She was used to taking what she wanted, but if he didn't want it too, there was no point. "You're so much more than a warrior,” she murmured. **** As he fought against Lilia, one thought kept running through Vincent's mind. What in hell was Don doing? He had given the signal a few minutes earlier, as soon as he had seen her approach, and still the spell hadn't taken effect; it was becoming difficult to remind himself he wasn't really trying to dust her yet. Difficult to hold back when she so clearly wasn't. He needed Don to do the spell, and he needed him to do it now! The one thing in his advantage was that he and Lilia weren't new to this; they had met and battled numerous times over the last seven years, and Vincent knew her fighting moves almost as well as he knew his own. They were too evenly matched, in a way. They knew each other too well, and that might have explained why neither of them had ever managed to completely get the upper hand and kill the other. But if he grudgingly admired her fighting skills, Vincent could have done without Lilia's running commentary. She always mocked his age, as she had done that first night when she hadn't killed him, as she was doing now, calling him a child, as though his twenty-seven years were nothing when compared to her own couple of hundred. He had done his research long before, and knew she had been turned at nineteen, a hundred and seventy-two years earlier. He knew all there was to know, he had never forgotten any of it, not even her real name even if he had never pronounced it out loud again since earning himself the scar she seemed so proud of. Suddenly, finally, the air wavered around them, Don's spell focusing on the crystal in his pocket. In just seconds, all desire to fight would leave Lilia, and it would be easy—easy to see, at last, how gorgeous she was. Vincent yearned to pull at the piece of leather that held her hair back in a short ponytail, let his fingers play in the dark auburn strands and find those threads of red that sometimes shone under the moon. He wanted to get close enough to look deep into her eyes and finally decide whether they were green or gray. He wanted to touch those pink lips with a finger, or maybe his mouth, and discover whether they were as soft as they seemed to be. He wanted ... her. He wanted to finally see, finally touch the body she had only given him delectable glimpses of for so long. **** Standing to one side next to her seated mother, Hélène was the image of propriety as she observed the couples dancing in the middle of the room. She had always been too outspoken as a child, blurting out what was on her mind without thinking and earning herself reproachful glares

in public and lengthy speeches in private about what was appropriate and what was not. She had learned her lessons, and now, at nineteen, she was the perfect image of what a lady ought to be. A lesser baron had invited her earlier, and she had given him a short waltz before begging off, making it clear without ever ceasing to be charming that she was granting him a favor and he ought to be grateful for the attention without trying to get more. That particular lesson, she had learned from her father. He wasn't here that night, but the memory of his words was, reminding her that even though she ought not to be too forward, her eyes had to look up, not down, to find a suitable match. She was the second child of a noble and very wealthy family, and her father had high hopes for her. When a gentleman approached and bowed first to her mother and her friends, then to her, Hélène felt something tighten in her chest. She had noticed the man several times during the evening, and each time his eyes had been on her she had looked away quickly. Tall and broad shouldered, he wore an impeccably tailored suit that spoke of money and class, but she didn't know his name or station. "Would you offer me the pleasure of a dance in your company, my lady?” he asked her, his smile so bright it lit up his whole face. Unsure, Hélène questioned her mother with a look, and after a second received a slight nod in reply. One hand dropping to the side of her skirts to hold them off the ground, she gave her free arm to the gentleman and allowed him to guide her to the dance floor. The orchestra was starting a new tune, a fast waltz, and they fell easily into the steps, turning so fast that Hélène felt she was flying. She rarely had the pleasure to dance with such a good partner. The dance seemed to be over in mere instants, but when they bowed to each other, he took her hand again and this time they danced to a slower music. "I apologize,” she said, her eyes meeting his shyly, “but I do not know your name." A small smile curved his lips. “You may call me Nathanael." She let out a quiet shocked laugh. “It would hardly be proper for a lady to call you so." "Ah, but something tells me you're more than a lady, Liliane." She missed a step in their dance but he adapted easily so that no one could have noticed. "I am afraid you are mistaken,” she said, the smile more difficult now. “My name is Hélène de Saint-Simon." "Hélène Liliane Alexandra de Saint-Simon,” he corrected her. “I know who you are. And I prefer Liliane. You don't mind if I call you Liliane, do you?" She wanted to stop dancing and step back to her mother; this definitely was not the kind of conversation she ought to have with a perfect stranger. But her feet kept moving, and her hand remained in his. "I don't ... I don't think it would be proper,” she protested. "Again, that word. Proper. Who decides what is proper, Liliane?"

"It is not..." "Don't hide behind that word. I know you're a lady, anyone looking at you can tell as much. But you're much more than that." "More?” she repeated, unsure of what he meant, unsure she should be listening to him, yet captivated by the light in his eyes. "More than a lady, yes. More than anyone here but me can see. They stifle you, Liliane. They stifle the fire that burns in you when it should be raging, consuming everything. You could be so much more than what you show the world. You could make them all tremble in front of you, in fear and adoration both." The dance came to an end, and by pure habit, she bowed to him, still trying to understand his words, still shocked yet attracted by his discourse. "I will see you again soon, Liliane,” he murmured as he bent to kiss her hand. “And when I do, you'll become all you ought to be." When he straightened up, he flashed her another smile, and gave her a glimpse of his fangs. She gasped, bringing a hand to her heart, but he—it, the creature, the demon—was already striding away, already out of sight. She had heard of vampires, had been warned against their powers of seduction, but she had never truly understood until now. Just as she had never known what falling in love felt like until that instant. **** It hadn't been love, Lilia now realized. Because what she had started to feel for Nathanael, that night, the feelings that had developed when he had sired her were nothing at all in comparison to what she felt now for Vincent. A hundred and seventy odd years earlier, Lilia would never have even entertained the idea. It simply was not done. Women of her social status were to look pretty, have enough sense and education to be able to offer an opinion if asked for it and keep quiet and smile otherwise. They were not supposed to even hint at their feelings before a gentleman had made his intentions known to their family, and even then, it usually didn't matter much whether they enjoyed his company or couldn't stand him. They certainly weren't supposed to suggest what Lilia had in mind. She could almost hear her mother, admonishing her that by speaking out she would disgrace herself. But then, hadn't she lost all semblance of social grace the night when, newly risen, she had requested from her Sire that he take her to a party, and take herat the party, in full view of whatever guests were still alive and conscious enough to notice and be appalled? For that matter, she could hardly have disgraced her name any more than she had when becoming Nathanael's favorite Childe. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had heard him mention his human life, but despite the little information she had gathered she had managed to piece together that he hadn't been part of the higher spheres of society before his Sire, Antoine, had chosen him. Not that anyone could tell; by the time Antoine had been done with him, Nathanael could, at will, be the perfect gentleman or a ruthless monster, sometimes both at once. Now, Vincent Jordan couldn't exactly be considered to be on a level with her. He was human, for one thing; he made a living by tracking her kind, for the other. But she didn't care. Not anymore, not about

any of it, not when she could almost feel her heart beat again in her chest simply by looking at him. And it was time to tell him. All of it. And ask him. "You're more than a warrior,” she repeated, and took one hesitant yet hopeful step toward him. “You are strong in your body, strong in your mind, strong in your heart." She had known all of this since her first fight against him, yet only a moment earlier had she realized what it meant to her, and her voice shook with the truth her words contained. He seemed to hear her emotion, because the hand that held his stake and had come down to his side a little while earlier now opened, allowing the piece of wood to slip free and fall to the ground. Encouraged, Lilia took another step. "I thought you would have appreciated a warrior,” he said quietly, so quietly that a human might not have understood. "But I do,” she assured him. “I see beyond that façade, to the core of you. And I like what is there." Another step; walking forward had never been so hard. "There's so much you offer to the world,” she continued. “Even things you probably don't know you have in you. Remember that time when you let me go because I had staked that vamp so it wouldn't get to your throat?" He smiled at the memory. “You wanted me for yourself, you said. But then you slipped and I could have staked you instead." "But you didn't. You never could. Just as I never could kill you. And I don't think I would ever be able to." She was close enough to touch him, now, and she did just that, reaching out to trace the thin scar on his cheek with the tip of her finger. She had thought she only meant to hurt him at the time, but now it was clear that her subconscious had had other plans, marking him with her initial. He shuddered at the contact, and briefly closed his eyes. When they opened again, his pupils were so dilated that they almost completely obscured the blue of his eyes. She splayed her fingers to cup his cheek, and he leaned into her touch like a kitten begging to be petted. "A world without you in it would make me very sad, Vincent,” she murmured. "I can't even imagine you not being there,” he confessed in return. Close as she was, she was still too far, and took one more step in, her boots coming toe to toe with his. At this distance, she could feel the heat of his body reaching toward her, trying to envelop her, warm her; the scent of him was downright heady. “I don't want to fight you anymore,” she managed to utter. “I want to be with you. To love you." The last two words were but a whisper, but Vincent seemed to hear them clearly. A huge, delighted smile bloomed on his lips, and he promptly pressed them to hers. It was everything a first kiss ought to be. Shy at first, tentative and chaste, but soon too eager to control as everything disappeared in the heat of their embrace. Their tongues met and continued the dance that had been going on since their very first fight, entwining and separating only to find each other again. When he tentatively stroked the spots where her fangs hid, Lilia groaned and had to control her urge to let them extend. If she tasted him now, even

only a drop of his blood, she wasn't sure she would be able to ever stop. He was the one to pull away first, breathing hard and his eyes shining. Lilia wanted nothing more than to take possession of his mouth again. She wanted nothing more, except to pose the most important question that had ever passed her lips. Leaning her forehead against his, she took hold of his hands and, after a brief prayer to deities she had long forsaken, she finally asked him. "Vincent ... love ... will you make me the luckiest woman on this earth and marry me?"

Chapter 2 As soon as Lilia proposed, Vincent knew. It was unexpected, of course, he had never thought a woman, let alone Lilia, would propose to him. He was old-fashioned enough to have thought, once or twice, that he would be the one getting down on one knee, some day. But none of it mattered, as he instantly knew he had to say yes, there really wasn't any other answer possible. It was the logical conclusion to seven years of knowing her, seven years of fighting because it was the easy thing to do, easier than to admit to her or even to himself that he was attracted to her. No, it was more than attraction; it was love. He loved the banter they shared, loved to fight with her, loved that neither of them ever got the upper hand. She was his equal, his match, what he had been looking for in all the women he had ever met, what he had glimpsed in Emma but never truly found until now. And that was why he wanted more than a simple wedding. His beloved was a vampire, and he wanted to honor her by following vampire customs. He had read about it years earlier, when he had first started studying vampires and their lore. Knowing what he was fighting had always been an imperative for him, and he had never ceased to look for new books, new information, anything to understand his prey better. Despite the years that had passed and the lack of thought he had given it since reading about it, he remembered in detail the description of the Mating ritual between vampires; he remembered, also, that it could be done between vampire and human. A ritual of love and belonging that left each lover marked forever; it was the perfect union for them. "I'll marry you,” he replied, breathless from both the kiss they had shared and what he was about to suggest. “But I don't want you only as my wife. I want you as my Mate, too.” His voice became quieter at the sudden realization of how bold he was. “If you will have me, that is." Her eyes widened in surprise as he stumbled a little on the words. He wished he had been able to say it as calmly, as beautifully as she had when proposing but he was just too excited and too nervous for that. "You mean it?” she asked, her voice raw with what Vincent hoped was desire. “You really want to be my Mate?" He nodded and tried to find something romantic to say, something Lilia could remember and smile about a hundred years from now, but already her mouth was on his and there was nothing for him to do but hold her tighter and lose himself in her. The rest was a blur of motions and sensations. They divested each other right where they stood, clothes landing haphazardly on the tombstones around them. Vincent's heart hammered in his chest as he finally discovered the silk of Lilia's skin, and he thought he would die when her hands slid up over his chest,

cool but not cold, pulling his t-shirt off and setting his nerves on fire in the same movement. Boots and pants were a bit trickier, the first because of fastenings that shaky hands had trouble undoing, the second because they were tight as a second skin on Lilia. Finally, they were nude in front of each other. "You're beautiful,” they said in the same moment, and grinned at how their thoughts mirrored each other. "I never imagined this would happen,” Lilia confided in a whisper as she reached out to caress Vincent lightly, her fingers gliding from his shoulder down to his hand, which she clasped in hers. "Me neither. But it makes so much sense. Why did we wait so long?" He had pulled her to him as he answered, and now their bodies were touching and it was justperfect . Perfect, but not enough. "I don't know. But I won't wait a minute longer." With that, she covered his mouth with hers again, and everything but sensations ceased to have meaning. They sank to the soft, cool grass together and the gentle kiss and gentler touches slowly became passionate and demanding. Lilia's mouth and hands drove Vincent out of his mind, making him harder if that was possible, making him ache for her. He gave as good as he received, teasing her nipples into hard nubs with his tongue and teeth, tweaking her clit between his fingers until she panted and pleaded in his ear: "Please, Vincent, now. Want to feel you. All of you." He would have given his life for her at that moment, if that were what she had requested. The world stood still when he finally slid into her, slowly and savoring the powerful sensation of her tightness around him. At last, he was sheathed in her, and it felt as though the urgency had disappeared, and been replaced by this intense peace and feeling of rightness. They looked into each other's eyes, smiled and Vincent couldn't have said which of them initiated the kiss as they leaned toward each other's mouth at the same instant. It was just lips at first, a caress more than a kiss, until Lilia ran the tip of her tongue against his bottom lip, requesting, and being granted, entrance. As her tongue slipped inside his mouth, Vincent couldn't bear remaining still anymore and started moving in her, following the lazy rhythm of her tongue as it danced against his. He soon had to break the kiss to catch his breath, and took advantage of this brief separation to intensify his thrusting, pulling moans from Lilia's throat and raspy requests ofharder, please, love . Hands gripping her hips tight, he was all too happy to oblige, and thought he would lose control when she angled her hips to meet him, thrust for thrust, her hands playing over his chest before they twined at the back of his head and pulled him down. As he teetered on the edge of bliss, Lilia guided his mouth to her neck, nuzzled his, murmured, “Together", and the world shattered behind Vincent's closed eyelids. **** Lying on her side in the grass, her cheek propped on her fist, Lilia watched Vincent. Watched her Mate. And couldn't stop grinning. He lay on his back next to her, eyes wide open and staring straight up to the sky, his breathing still ragged but slowly returning to normal. With his ruffled hair, ornamented with a few blades of grass, and slightly silly and awed smile, he looked absolutely delicious. And he was delicious, as Lilia now knew from experience. She hadn't taken much blood at all, a Mating only required a mutual bite and a common

intent to bind two lovers, but his taste still lingered on her tongue. Strong, spiced by sex and love, she had never tasted anything better, and she couldn't wait to taste him again. There was no rush, however. On the left side of his neck, she could see the two healing puncture holes that marked him as hers. They would heal to a light silver color, she knew. As would her own scar, she wished she could have seen it. Made by human teeth, it had to be rounded. And perfect. "I can feel you,” he murmured suddenly, the tilting of his head toward her his only movement. “We're not even touching, but I can feel you." Her grin widened a little. She had known it would happen, but to know it and to experience it were very different. “I know. Me too. Feels incredible, doesn't it?" He nodded and, in one swift movement, turned toward her, entwining his legs with hers and pushing her to her back. The grass was cool behind her, and in contrast she almost felt her skin burn everywhere his body touched her; everything that Lilia was, everything that she knew demanded that she get even closer to him and intensify the contact. "Feels even better when we do touch,” he chuckled, and leaned down to trail kisses along her collarbone. Lilia hummed her agreement and wove her arms around his back; she pulled him closer to her like a warm living, wiggling and hardening blanket. Actually, not so warm she noticed. Or rather, not as warm as he ought to have been. "Vincent?” she inquired, a little worried. “Are you getting cold?" He murmured something unintelligible in between the soft kisses he rained upon her flesh, but she already had her answer. His skin was cooler than it had been earlier when she had first touched him, and she could even feel goose bumps under her fingers that she was sure had more to do with the cool temperature of the night than with her touch. "How about getting somewhere warm?” she suggested as she rolled him onto his back. “A bed would be nice, too. You know, to get some sleep. Or not." He laughed quietly when she wiggled a suggestive eyebrow and leaned in for a quick kiss. "Anything you want, love." Finding all of their clothes and putting them on took longer than it should have as they each stopped and reached toward the other for a kiss or a cuddle a couple of times, but eventually they were decent enough to walk through the city and to Vincent's townhouse. They held hands as they did; Lilia couldn't remember ever having held someone's hand like this, not since she had hit her teenage years, she couldn't even remember having ever wanted to hold someone's hand. But the simple, innocent contact had her entire body ablaze, for it held the promise of so much more to come. When, smiling, Vincent invited her inside the house, Lilia felt as though he was inviting her into his life. Then she remembered—how could she have forgotten, even for a second—that he had already done that. The fresh, tingling bite on her throat was ample proof of that. **** Their first time had started slowly and gradually intensified up to the fireworks of their Mating. The second one was just the opposite, and Lilia couldn't have said which she liked best. Both experiences

were beyond anything she had ever known in more than a century of existence. Lips devoured and hands worked frantically to get rid of clothes that stood in the way of flesh to flesh contact, and they left a trail of discarded clothing behind them through the living room, like many breadcrumbs. Vincent led her to the back of the room, toward the kitchen she first thought, but then she noticed the staircase running parallel to the half wall that closed the kitchen. The mezzanine above had to be the bedroom. The steps proved to be a slight challenge until Vincent lifted Lilia up while kissing her. She immediately brought her legs up around him and let him carry her upstairs, all the while wiggling her hips so that his cock trailed against her entrance. By the time they fell on the bed, he was slick with her wetness and she lost no time in rolling them over. Straddling him, she guided him inside her in one snap of her hips, forcing a cry from the both of them, and started riding him hard. "God, Lilia, so good..." His hands gripped her hips, tight and possessive, reinforcing her rhythm even as he arched into her and drew back. But first his left hand then the right let go of her and started gliding over her thighs then back to her waist, up to her breast that he cupped lovingly before sliding down again. Responding to the tender and lazy touch, Lilia slowed down and started exploring his chest and arms with the same gentle caresses. She never ceased to rock her body over his, but her movements were now drawn out as she slowly raised herself until nothing but the tip of his cock remained in her, then sank back down on him, inch by inch, feeling him stretch her each time as though it were the first. "I never imagined this,” she repeated her earlier words, still unable to completely grasp what was happening. “I've dreamed of sinking my fangs in you, I wanted so much to kill you, but this..." Words failed her, but she could see in Vincent's eyes that he understood, and felt the same way. "I know,” he soothed her. “It doesn't matter now. Not anymore.This is the reason why we never killed one another." She nodded and leaned in for a quick kiss, delighting in his gasp at the change of angle. She could feel her climax growing nearer with each touch of his hands, each slide of his cock, and the contact was made simply incredible by the link that now joined them. She would never have believed that having a Mate would make her feel so perfectly complete. So whole. It was as though she had been reunited with a part of her she hadn't known had been missing. And she wouldn't ever let go, she promised herself as much. Catching Vincent's hands, she helped him sit up and slid her legs behind him. The position didn't allow for much movement, but now he was close enough for her to capture his lips again, and she did just that, caressing his tongue with hers as she did his body. His right hand slid between them and to the apex of her legs, where he pressed his thumb to her engorged clit, flicking it once, twice, and pushing her over the edge. She broke the kiss and gasped his name; in the same instant, she could feel him inside her, thrusting in one last time and coming hard with her. "Lilia ... love ... love you so much..." Arms and legs wrapped against each other, their bodies still trembling and singing with joy, they remained as they were for long seconds or maybe hours, watching each other, sharing soft kisses and smiling. Lilia was about to tell him—again—that she loved him when the air almost shimmered, almost rippled around them as it had earlier that night. The shock and horror she could see on Jordan's face only mirrored her own as she realized where she

was and what—who—she was doing. Even as he slid back, she moved off him, and got ready to lunge and make him pay for whatever the hell had happened. He had to have done something, there was just no way... His foot connecting with her jaw caught her by surprise. She tumbled backwards, off the bed and onto the hardwood floor; her head hit the floor with a dull thud and everything went black.

Chapter 3 The phone rang as Vincent stood in front of the slightly fogged bathroom mirror, eyes riveted to the image of the bite mark on his neck. The events of the last couple of hours were replaying in his mind, and each time they did, they made a little less sense. He had taken advantage of Lilia's unconsciousness to tie her up and, abandoning her on his bed, had walked down to the bathroom. His skin reeked of her, of the two of them together, and he had scrubbed it raw to wash off both the scent and the memory of her touch. Even now though, even after the sting of scalding hot water, he could stillfeel her hands on him, and practically had to fight himself not to return to her. A towel at his hips and another in his hand that he had used to dry his hair, he moved to the phone more by reflex than by conscious thought, and answered the same way. "Vincent Jordan, Special Enforcer. What..." "Vince!” Don's relieved voice cut in. “Thank God you're there! Are you all right? Something went wrong with the spell and I couldn't find you at the graveyard. Did you know you dropped your cell phone there? I was so damn scared! What happened? Did you get the vamp? When..." In a world of confusion, his friend's agitated chatter was at least one familiar anchor to cling to for Vincent. He could remember Don at age five, introducing himself at recess and starting to ramble until Vincent had interrupted him to ask him what his name was again. Years had passed but Don hadn't changed much. "Hey, calm down,” Vincent managed to break into the endless monologue. “I'm OK. Things were a bit ... weird, for a while, but everything's better now. I caught the vamp, brought her home, and we can do the truth spell as soon as you get here." "I thought you said we'd do the interrogation in the van.” Vincent could hear the frown in Don's voice, and he could guess that the questions would start again soon. He needed a story, and quick. There was just no way he would admit to what had happened with Lilia, not when he could barely believe ithad happened. "You said it yourself, the spell went wrong; it affected me too, not just her.” He snorted, trying to play up the irony of the situation in hopes of making it sound more plausible. “For a moment, Lilia was my best friend and I was taking her home for a drink when the magic stopped." Don's laughter had an incredulous, almost hysterical note to it. “Lilia? Your best friend? God, Vincent, I really messed up on that one. I'm so sorry about that." If only you knew,Vincent thought glumly, even as he said: “Don't sweat it. Just make her talk for me and

we'll call it even." "I ... I'll try. I hope that I won't mess that up too. I need to swing by the store and get a refill on one of the ingredients, but I'm coming. Half an hour at the most. Don't get too friendly with Lilia in the meantime!" Forcing a chuckle out, Vincent hung up the phone and looked toward the back of the house and the mezzanine where he could hear thumping noises and curses. It looked like his ‘best friend’ was conscious again. The confrontation promised to be interesting. Trying to come up with a plan, he returned to the bathroom and quickly got dressed, doing his best to ignore his image in the mirror as he did. Then he climbed the staircase wearily, the unwanted memory popping up in his mind of how he had carried Lilia upstairs not that long ago. "Jordan!” she growled just as he was reaching the last step. “What in hell did you do to me, you stupid, impotent little..." Ignoring her words, he reached for the stake tucked into the back of his pants. That stopped the tirade. "I did nothing,” he said, sounding more detached than he really felt. “And believe me, I'd just as soon forget it ever happened." "You can't kill me,” she said with an appearance of calm, but looking into her wide eyes he realized she thought he wanted to forget by getting rid of her. “Not now. If you..." "I won't,” he interrupted her. “Not unless you give me a reason to do it. Now here's a choice for you. A friend of mine is coming by. You can meet him exactly as you are now, or you can play nice and I'll let you clean up and get dressed. Your choice." It was a bluff, nothing more. There was no way he would let Don see her like this and ask why she was naked, had semen drying on her thighs, and the imprint of human teeth on her neck. But it would be much easier on him if she did the sponge bath and clothes part by herself. **** As he fiddled with the collar of his shirt, Vincent could feel Lilia's eyes on him. He had helped her throw some clothes on after she had cleaned up, untying first her feet, then one arm at a time, careful not to give her any opening. Now, she was tied to a chair and shackled to the floor in the middle of Vincent's living room, the bolt reinforced by magic. It wasn't the first time he had needed to interrogate a prisoner. It was, however, the first time he had ever slept with a prisoner before the interrogation. The only positive aspect of the situation was that she was as mortified as he was by what they had done. And although she still glared at him—a lot—she had at least stopped accusing him of manipulating her mind to take advantage of her body after he had repeatedly pointed out that he was as disgusted as she was by their loss of control. Don would be there soon to help make her talk, and Vincent couldn't help but wonder if Lilia would inform him about what had happened. It would be just like her to gloat and embarrass him. Even if she didn't, there was still a chance that Don would notice the round bruise half hidden by her collar and ask about it. On the other hand, he might notice the bite marks on Vincent's neck and that wouldn't be any easier to explain. With an admonition to Lilia not to do anything stupid, he stepped into the bathroom and pulled at the

collar of his shirt, exposing his neck. Carefully, he touched the slightly puffy bite marks that now adorned the left side of his neck as he inspected them in the mirror. That simple touch sent sparks down his spine, and when he closed his eyes, he was back in the bedroom, with Lilia writhing above him, her eyes filled with all the love she had for him... "It won't fade, you know." Startled, he opened his eyes and realized that, from where she sat, Lilia could turn her head and see what he was doing through the open bathroom door. Moreover, he could see in the mirror the empty chair in the middle of the living room behind him. His heart jumped in his chest as for a second he forgot that she had no reflection and he glanced back through the open door, relieved to see her exactly where he had left her. Facing the mirror again, he ignored her and adjusted his collar carefully, making sure that it hid the marks completely. "Neither of our marks will fade,” she continued when he didn't respond. “And there's no way to break the Mating. Did you know it when you suggested it?" Still refusing to listen to her, Vincent came back to the living room and stood in front of her. By the look she gave him, she believed he was going to answer, but he remained silent as he tugged at her shirt's collar, making sure it completely covered the bite mark he had left on her. The heavy ropes that coiled around her torso and arms left her little freedom to move, but she managed to reach up and close her hand on his wrist as he was pulling back. "Did you?” she insisted. Her hand sent a wave of goose bumps over his skin and Vincent wasn't sure whether he wanted the contact to continue or to stop. Such an innocent touch, and yet it was enough to bring him back again to the bedroom, back to the graveyard, back even to the innocent moments they had shared as they walked to his home... Three knocks on the door startled him and he pulled free reflexively. Shaking his head to get rid of the intrusive memory, he went to open the door to Don. Before he did, however, he gave Lilia a fleeting glance and finally answered her question. "I did." **** As soon as the words passed his lips, Jordan turned back to the door, and Lilia was left to stare at the back of his head, unsure of what to think. He had known. He had known, when he had suggested that they Mate, that it was a one-way ticket, and that neither of them would ever be the same again. He had known. Or had he? What did he know exactly about Mating? He had known enough to bite her hard, to the blood, right in the instant of climax, but he may have just been following his instincts and her lead. What else did he know? What he had learned in a book? Books about vampires were so often full of nonsense; some vamps had been known, over the centuries, to publish volumes of supposedly brand new information about vampires’ abilities and their culture that were in fact a mix of half truths and lies

written to confuse men such as Jordan. Maybe he didn't know as much as he thought he did. Maybe she would have to tell him what it meant exactly that they were now Mates. What she knew of it from witnessing it firsthand. It was rare for two vampires to decide to Mate; when you know, or think, that you will live forever, you have to be sure you'll still be able to stand each other in a hundred years or in ten times that number. It was even more rare for a vampire to choose a human Mate, and always done as a prelude to the human being turned. The one pair of Mates Lilia had ever known had been a Sire and Childe, but they hadn't Mated until long after the girl had been turned. Lilia had been a mere fledgling when she had witnessed the Mating ritual; it was a rare enough event that Masters were usually invited to attend, and they sometimes took a younger vampire with them, as Nathanael had done by bringing her. She remembered being in awe at the raw power she could feel emanating from the couple as they fucked and then Mated; everybody in the room had felt it, and the scene had turned into a literal orgy after the Mates had finished their first round. She remembered, also, how she had, very carefully, asked Nath if they would ever Mate, and the laugh that had been his reply. She had been hurt, at the time, still young and naïve enough to believe he loved her to the exclusion of anyone else and unable to comprehend yet that Nathanael was incapable of truly loving anyone other than himself. But twenty some years later she had understood his answer when she had seen the girl again, more than half mad and pleading for someone to end her life; her Mate had been staked three weeks earlier. The broken link was making her existence a literal hell. Shaking herself from her memories, Lilia tried to concentrate on what Jordan and the newly arrived human were talking about. Some kind of spell, from what she understood. A spell they were going to do on her. And tied up as she was, there was little she could do about it. Maybe it didn't matter what Jordan had known or not, she reflected as the man—Don, she thought was his name—started to pull out jars and herbs from a duffel bag. Because whatever he had had in mind when they had Mated, and Lilia still couldn't believe that she had consented to that, still couldn't understand how even magic could have made her lose her mind to that point, the result was the same. They were Mates. And what truly mattered now was for Jordan to realize that if he staked her, he would follow her into the other world before a month had passed.

Chapter 4 It had been a simple mission. So simple, actually, that Lilia had scoffed and started arguing when Nathanael had sent her out. Any of the minions could have done it, and if Nath had wanted one of his Childer to do it, he could have asked Alexei, the boy was all too eager to obey orders and have his latest mistake forgiven. But Nathanael had given her that look, the one that promised she would dearly regret questioning his orders in front of others again. In private, he accepted much more from her than when they had an audience, and she had forgotten herself for a moment. She had bowed her head and walked away giving all appearances of being chastised; but in truth, she was rolling her eyes at his stubbornness. Her biggest mistake though had been to refuse an escort. If she had had a couple of minions with her, maybe none of this mess would have happened, and she wouldn't be chained in the middle of her most annoying enemy's living room at that moment. Now sitting at the center of a circle of sand and candles, Lilia squirmed in her chair. She hated the silence that had fallen on the room except for the incomprehensible mumbles Jordan's friend sometimes let out. She hated that she could feel Jordan's eyes on her from where he was behind her back. But more than everything, she hated being stuck in that damn chair. She could have gotten rid of the ropes easily enough; they weren't tied very tightly and she could have broken free of them by tugging hard. That

wouldn't have helped her much, however, not with the heavy shackles at her feet, bolted to the floor and magically reinforced, as Jordan had made a point to specify. She trusted he knew his job well enough to own restraints that would contain a vampire; there was no point in wasting her energy by trying to break those. "It's ready,” the man said at last. "You're sure?” Jordan asked, sounding skeptical. "Of course I'm sure,” came the slightly hurt reply. “I botched one spell, doesn't mean I'm going to mess up everything I do." "Hey, I'm just saying, I thought I remembered a flash of light from the last time. Maybe I'm wrong. I wasn't implying anything." There was a pause, and Lilia wished she could have seen them, what they were doing. Finally, the man sighed and said: "I know you're not. But we both know it's not the first time I messed up, and..." "I trust you,” Jordan interjected. “Don't start with the ‘I'm quitting’ speech because I'm not listening to that again." Another sigh. "It's a different spell, supposedly more powerful than the one I used last time. Go ahead, then. Ask her something." She could hear him come closer before he actually came into to her view. Jordan made a point of remaining outside the circle as he came to stand in front of her. His face was unreadable as he observed her for a moment before asking: "What is your name?" She rolled her eyes at him. “Lilia. As if you didn't know that." "Your human name. What were you called before you were turned?" He knew that too, he had thrown the name in her face the very first time they had met, expecting probably to surprise her; well, she had been surprised. And so had he when she had carved the L into his face to help him remember that she only had one name now and it was... "Hélène Liliane Alexandra de Saint-Simon." The words had rolled off Lilia's tongue without her accord, and her eyes widened, as she finally understood what the spell they had been talking about was. "Looks like it's working,” Jordan assessed, smiling faintly. “Let's get to it, then. Why did Nathanael want the Jonason kid turned?" To her deep horror, Lilia found that she could not refuse to answer. As hard as she tried to remain silent,

or even lie, what she knew spilled out of her and all of it true. "Nath had been keeping an eye on him for a while, and recently Jonason started showing signs of being both a seer and a wizard. Nathanael has wanted a seer in the clan for years, ever since you staked Carol, and the occasion was too good to pass up having a wizard as well." With each word that escaped her lips, a growing sense of finality settled in Lilia. She was dust. Even if Jordan didn't kill her—and if he wanted to live, he certainly wouldn't—Nathanael would carve her heart out when he learned how much she had revealed of his plans to his biggest foe. "Remind me to take a roll call of the seers in the region,” Jordan said, his eyes trained over her shoulder as he talked to his friend. “I'll need to warn them to be extra careful." The man behind her let out a dry laugh. “Do they really need the warning if they're truly seers? Shouldn't they be able to see the big bad vamps coming for them?" Jordan shrugged. “Jonason didn't. Or maybe he didn't mind...” His eyes shifted back to her, piercing and demanding. “Did he want to be turned?" Once more, Lilia's mouth formed words without her consent. “I don't know." Annoyed as much by what was happening as she was by the sight of the human—her Mate!—talking to her as though nothing had happened, as though he didn't feel the pull that was making her neck itch and her body ache for him, Lilia closed her eyes. The questions continued to come, and she continued to fight, without success, before answering each and every one of them. **** Somehow, Vincent started breathing more easily when Lilia's eyes finally left him. Her gaze had been unsettling, so angry and accusatory it made him uncomfortable. And that was strange, because he had seen Lilia angry before, he had seen her much more upset than this, and it had never bothered him until now. The obvious answer was that their Mating was affecting him, but he refused to even let the thought come to the front of his mind. He had to pretend nothing had happened, at least as long as Don was there. After that, he and Lilia would need to have a small talk and settle things. Until then, he was interrogating a prisoner, nothing else. Nothing more. "How many vampires are there in Nathanael's clan?" "About fifty." "Not ‘about', Lilia. I asked how many. I want a precise number." He was glad that his shock didn't transpire in his voice. He had known Nathanael's clan was large, that was, after all, why he, Peter and Don had first decided taking it down would help them establish their reputation, and why the clan had remained his main target for years. But he had never heard of a clan that large; his instructors at the academy had always said that vampire clans usually counted between five and fifteen members, no more. "I don't know. You could have killed three last night before you snatched me for all I know, or two more could have been sired..." "To the best of your knowledge. Think about it for a minute and give me a number. You and Nathanael

included." Her head lowered slightly, but he still could see her lips moving, counting, until she finally said “Forty-seven." "How many of those are Nathanael's Childer? Including you?" The slight tightening of her jaw betrayed her anger even as her voice remained perfectly flat. “Three." "What are their names?" Behind her, Don was taking notes of everything Lilia was saying. Some of it, Vincent already knew or assumed, but experience had taught him not to let the enemy know how much he knew exactly. The only thing he was truly surprised about, as he continued his interrogation, was the true location of Nathanael's lair. He had been searching for it for years, and if Lilia was telling the truth—which Vincent had no doubt she was—he had been close, very close to it several times without ever being aware of it. He had been thinking about a frontal attack for a long time, discussing with Don spells that would help and approaching some Special Enforcers he knew with the idea of a joint effort. Capturing whatever vampire sent to fetch Jonason had felt like a great way to get the reconnaissance information he needed. He realized now that it would take more work than that. He would have to call more Special Enforcers than he had planned, maybe even from out of town, and the more people involved, the harder it would be to set up. Special Enforcers were often loners, who worked at the most with one or two other people but who often hunted alone as he did, and to plan an operation to get rid of Nathanael's clan would take time and effort; it would be worthwhile, though. It took more than an hour for him to ask everything he wanted to know or hear confirmed, but he eventually ran out of questions; or at least, there was nothing else he wanted to ask in Don's presence. If it had been just him and Lilia, he might have added a couple more about what had happened to them earlier, but Don wouldn't have understood if Vincent had asked him to step out for a minute. In seconds, the spell was over, the candles back in Don's supplies bag, and the sand magicked back into its jar. All that remained to prove that something had been going on were the extensive notes Don had taken and Lilia's barely contained anger as she opened her eyes again. The look she gave him made cold beads of sweat run down Vincent's back, but he ignored them and, grinning at her, thanked her. If looks could have killed, his death would have been excruciating. Turning his back on her, Vincent shifted his attention to his friend. Don hadn't said much, but something had felt off with him ever since he had walked in. It was probably because of the botched spell. Now that he had the information he had hoped for, Vincent wanted to hear what had gone wrong. He had told Don earlier he didn't want to hear him talk about pulling back and it was true. But he needed to know what had caused this uncharacteristic blunder. "You have a minute?” Vincent asked after Don had finished putting away his spell supplies. Don grimaced and nodded before following Vincent into the kitchen for a semblance of privacy. The half wall would let every word out and Lilia would be able to hear everything they said, but Vincent didn't feel comfortable discussing the spell that had led to their Mating while she was too close. "So, what happened?” he asked when Don had pulled a stool from under the island and sat down. “Why did the spell go wrong?"

Without asking, he picked a bottle of wine on the rack and poured two glasses. It was early morning and the sun would rise soon; coffee might have been more appropriate than wine, yet Don took his glass with a grateful nod. He didn't bring it to his lips though as he talked, choosing instead to peer into the dark wine as though its depths concealed answers to all the questions he had ever had, especially those about women. "It was Jeanie. She called me just before you did, and ... what she said just threw me off my game." On Vincent's pointed look, Don kept on, his voice becoming a little quieter. “She has officially broached the topic of marriage,” he said with a forced smile when he looked back at Vincent. “And I totally blew that, too. She said she wanted to talk, and it was such a bad time, with you out there and the spell to do at just the right moment. I got your signal while I was on the phone with her." Vincent took a sip and then nodded. That explained at least why Don had been late in doing the spell after he had given him the signal. "So I started mixing the ingredients,” Don continued, “and I told her we'd talk later because I needed to finish the spell. And out of nowhere she says it's marriage she wants to talk about. Startled the hell out of me, and that's when I butchered the spell, too much willow bark at the wrong moment. And I fucked things with her too, because I didn't have a clue what to say and she tookthat as my answer." His woeful tale finished, Don drank the full glass in one long gulp, grimacing as he always did at the alcohol's burn. Vincent simply stared at him. "Told you,” Don sighed when he noticed the look on Vincent's face. “I blew it all around." Getting back to his senses, with a slight shake of his head, Vincent tried to offer whatever words of comfort and consolation might be appropriate in such a situation, but he didn't really hear anything of what he was saying. Suddenly, everything was clear. He had of course been certain since waking up from the spell that the marriage and Mating talk had been a direct result of it, but now he had a clearer idea of how a one-sided non-aggression spell could have turned into mutual love. It might have been interesting to discuss it with Don—except that Vincent was quite determined not to ever tell his friend about what had happened exactly between him and Lilia. Don would probably have taken that as an excuse to completely stop doing spells for Vincent, and talented wizards were too hard to find for Vincent to let him go. Donwas talented, whatever he said; two mishaps in seven years didn't change that. No, he wouldn't tell Don, or anyone else for that matter. No one needed to know he was Mated to a vampire he had once sworn to kill. **** Lilia had never liked magic. In her whole existence, being near full-fledged witches or beginning practitioners alike had never turned out well for her. Her dislike had always amused Nathanael, and it was because of it that he had sent her rather than another of his Childer or minions to pick up the newly raised vampire who should have become the clan's new resident wizard and seer. She now had two more reasons to dislike magic; although, the dislike was quickly turning into loathing. First, they had placed this truth spell on her, and she had been unable to keep her mouth shut as they

asked her questions. Unable, also, to tell anything but the truth. If Nathanael ever learned how much information she had given them, it would be a long and painful time before he allowed her to die. Then ... although that had happened first, hadn't it? By listening to the two humans talk, she had understood what had happened to her and Jordan. Why they had so suddenly fallen into bed together. Why she had suggested marriage, and why he had gone so far as to propose a Mating. Magic, all of it. And the irony of it was that the boy had been caught by his own game when the spell that had been supposed to target only her had morphed into something wider. It did nothing to soften the blow. Some day, they would pay for what they had done to her. Stupid, clueless humans who played with forces they barely understood and gother burned in the process. It was with a murderous glare that she welcomed the return of the two men as they walked out of the kitchen, but they ignored her completely on their way to the front door. "You're sure?” the apprentice wizard was saying. “There was this fire spell you wanted me to practice..." "You're not playing with fire in my house, Don,” Jordan laughed. “And yes, I am quite sure I can dust one lone vamp when she's chained in my living room, thank you." Lilia froze for a second then tried to turn toward the door to see Jordan, see if he was serious, but she only caught a glimpse of him as he closed the door then crossed the room. She whipped around to the other side only to see him open a heavy wooden chest and pull out something she couldn't see. Things were not looking good.

Chapter 5 "Jordan, wait! There's something you need to know before..." Lilia's panicked voice trailed off while Vincent used the dagger he had just picked up to slice through her bonds; he couldn't help a slight grin of amusement at having scared her. She glared at him, an accusatory gleam in her eyes. "You know, don't you?” she grumbled as she rubbed at her wrists where the cord had chafed them. "I thought we had already established that,” he replied with a snort. “I'm not stupid, Lilia. I realize that if I kill you, I'm as good as dead. I just hope you realize the reverse is true for you." With that, he threw her the key for the chains still binding her feet; she might have a lot to lose by killing him, but that didn't mean he would kneel at her feet and literally serve himself up on a platter. She was silent as she unlocked the shackles and barely glanced at him as she stood and stretched. "You're going to let me leave that easily?” she asked after a few seconds when she finally looked straight at him again. He had been asking himself the same question practically since the spell had dissolved around them and brought back their old hatred. He still wasn't sure whether he was making a big mistake or doing the right thing. "I don't really see what else I can do,” he shrugged. “Unless you want to remain chained in the middle of

my living room for the next fifty years or so?” She gave him a deadly glare, and he answered with a dry smile. “Didn't think so. I can't kill you. I can't keep you here. I guess that means letting you go, yeah. But there's a catch." "Isn't there always?" Ignoring her words, he picked up the rope and chains on the floor and put them back in the chest where they belonged. "I'm letting you go,” he repeated, “but I'm also warning you. You'd better not try anything against my friends or me. There are many ways for me to hurt you without having to kill you, just give me one reason and I will." The same was true for her too, but he didn't think it was wise to point that out to her. She didn't comment on it either, and instead, arms crossed, she raised her chin defiantly. “Any reason? Does that mean I can't feed either? You might as well try to stake me now, it will save us time." What he meant to suggest left a bad taste in his mouth before he even said it, but she was right in a way, if he didn't give her a minimum of freedom he might as well dust her right there and then and be done with it. "I'm not saying you can't feed,” he said very slowly, observing her for any clue as to what she was thinking. “Maybe you could feed in one of these bars where humans pay to be bitten.” He could see from the undisguised disgust on her face what she thought of that particular option, but then again, he hadn't really thought she was the type to sell herself. Older vamps were rarely seen in those bars. “It would probably be simpler if you just left town,” he finished with a shrug. “That way there'd be no risk of me catching you red fanged. I'd have to kill you if I did, no matter what the consequences were for me." What he wasn't saying, but felt confident enough that she would read between the lines, was that he wouldn't do anything as long as she was clever enough not to let him catch her. He hated this blurring of the lines, but he didn't see what else he could do. Until now, vampires had been separated in two distinct categories in his mind; the ones who killed humans and the ones who played by human rules. The first, he tracked every night, and the second he left alone. He wished he could have moved Lilia from the first category to the other, but he couldn't delude himself enough to believe that someone who had killed for almost two hundred years would change her ways just to accommodate him. He tried to remind himself that there were more vampires to kill than he could count, and that not dusting one wouldn't make too much of a difference in the grand scheme of things, but he knew already that the guilt would be there, eventually. That was why he hoped she would leave town and take the matter out of his hands. For what felt like an eternity but was only a minute or two, she returned his look, hiding what she thought too well for him to guess. Eventually, she inclined her head, barely, and he took that as her agreement. Pivoting on her heels, she started walking to the door, and he shook his head at her stiff back. "You're going to step right out into the sun? You do realize it's early morning, right?" She stopped dead in her tracks, and he could see her fists closing and opening repeatedly for a few seconds before she looked back at him, an eyebrow raised and twitching. She wouldn't ask, he realized, she was too proud for that, and he was too tired to play her game.

"You can stay until sunset. Just don't...” Shaking his head at the futility of what he had been about to say—asking her not to touch anything was probably a guarantee she would do just that—he finished his request with, “just leave me alone." Even as exhausted as he was, it took Vincent a long time before he could finally drift into a half sleep. He couldn't help listening for noises coming from the first floor. Water running, she must have taken a shower. The fridge opening, did she expect to find blood in there? Soft steps and creaking noises, it sounded as though she was inspecting the apartment and everything that was in it, and after a few seconds, Vincent managed to convince himself that he didn't care. Voices on the television, Vincent snorted when he realized she was watching a talk show about vampires. The muffled noise finally lulled him and he fell asleep, a stake clenched tight in his hand. His dreams were achingly vivid. **** Slowly—oh so slowly, oh so gently—Vincent enters Lilia for the first time, and to both of them it is a revelation. Neither of them were virgins, yet at this instant they both are as they discover each other and how perfect their union is. They both think it even if neither says it; they were made for each other, that much is clear when their gazes lock and they smile. Together, they reach for each other's mouth and kiss; chastely at first then their tongues join the dance even as Vincent gently rocks his cock inside Lilia. It soon becomes both too much and not enough, and the kiss breaks while their rhythm accelerates, bringing them closer to ecstasy with each slide of his cock, each movement of her hips. They are so close already, joined in the most intimate way and ready to soar together, neither of them truly believing that they could become any closer. But when Lilia murmurs, “Together", when her fangs pierce the flesh at the base of Vincent's neck, when his own teeth, human and blunt in comparison, close down on the crook of her shoulder, hard enough to break her skin, they realize, in the same instant, that they were wrong. This, the sharing of bodies and blood, is the ultimate act of intimacy; and at the same moment, pleasure overwhelms them both. For the mere second that it takes ancient forces to bind them, they are the same; they know the other's thoughts and heart, know everything that makes them two different persons even as their lives are woven as one. The knowledge recedes as the Mating is completed, leaving them breathless, dazed, and incredibly whole. They fall apart, each of them lying on their back and staring up, unseeingly, at the stars that witnessed their union. They are not touching anymore, not physically, and still they are almost as close as they were a second before. The feeling is both humbling and reassuring, as they separately but together come to the realization that they will never be alone again. It isn't long though before they feel the need to reach for each other. **** Lilia woke up with a jump from having dozed off in front of the television, and it took her a few seconds to get back her bearings. Her mind was still trapped in the dream, the memory, and she could have screamed in frustration at how much she was craving Jordan's touch. Her only consolation was that, if she were to believe the lustful scent descending from the mezzanine, she wasn't the only one who was hot and bothered. Was he reliving the events of the night, too?

Standing up from the comfortable sofa she had been lying on, she stretched on her way to the bathroom, pointedly ignoring the now so close steps that could lead her to Jordan. She washed her face with cold water to get rid of the last threads of the dream, and, maybe, chase away the irritating idea that it wouldn't take much to recreate it. She couldn't even understand how she had managed to fall asleep with her senses hyperaware at the danger of being in her enemy's lair. He could have staked her in her sleep and... And he really wasn't going to do that, was he? He couldn't. Not if he wanted to live. Staking her would have been the same as staking himself, and he had said he wouldn't do it unless she gave him a good reason. Pretty cocky of him, that; he seemed to assume he would be able to stake her whenever he chose to. Apparently, he failed to remember that he had never managed to do it so far, and there was no reason to think he would be able to now. Still, if he tried, she would fight back and who knew what would happen then. She might kill him without meaning to, and that wouldn't be any better than the reverse. She wasn't feeling particularly suicidal, so it might be a good idea to avoid that kind of confrontation as much as possible. If only she hadn't been so sure the only way to break the bond was death... Unless... Walking out of the bathroom, she looked up at the mezzanine. She couldn't see Jordan, but she could hear him quite clearly. His breathing, his heartbeat, both of them regular, both of them indicated sleep. He had warned her to leave him alone, and she had no doubt that he was armed. Even so, it wouldn't be too hard to sink her fangs into him again before he knew it, this time to drain him, and offer him her blood in return at the instant his heart failed him. She could make him her minion; that would undoubtedly bring a smile to Nathanael's lips when she returned to the lair with a fledgling in tow, although to be Mated to a minion would be beneath her. A Childe, then. A little more blood from her and a lot more abilities on the other side of life for him. But she had never made a Childe before, and she had always thought that, when she would, it would be someone she wouldn't mind spending a century or two with. Jordan definitely did not fit that description. She wouldn't turn him, she decided as she directed her steps to the cupboard where she had found his stash of alcohol while exploring his house earlier. Reaching blindly for the first bottle she could find, she returned to sit on the sofa and took her first mouthful. Not bad. She wouldn't turn him, at least not right away. She would have to do something sooner or later though, there was no way she would let him die on the job or from whatever pesky diseases humans died from. But she couldn't bear the idea of siring him now and having to be with him—having to remember constantly what they had done when it was still so fresh in her mind. What it all meant was that many things were about to change for her. And not for the good. If she went back to her clan's lair, her Sire would know what had happened within an hour; she had no delusions about hiding it. Nathanael had given her a simple mission, herd a newly turned vampire to his first meal and then to his new home, and she had not only failed to do that but also had failed to report before sunrise. He would have the skin of her back for that trespass. And when he did, he would notice the bite mark on her throat. Nathanael was many things, but stupid was not one of them. He would figure out what the mark meant, would find a way to make Lilia admit whom she was Mated to, and once he knew, the only question was whether he would stake Lilia right away to cripple Jordan or come up with one of his elaborate settings to make things more interesting for him, and more painful for Jordan.

Lilia wished she hadn't been so sure of her Sire's willingness to see her dust if it gave him a big enough advantage over an enemy he loathed—and Jordan certainly fit that description after years of being a thorn in Nathanael's side. She knew her Sire loved her, in his own fashion, as much as he could love anyone; he still called her his favorite Childe when he was in a good mood, even if they had long before ceased to share the same bed every day. But she also knew that whatever he felt for her would not stop his hand. And that was why she wouldn't be able to go back to him. The alcohol burned her throat and she closed her eyes, thinking hard. If she simply left this house at nightfall, found a new lair and gave no explanation to her clan, how long would it be before Nathanael sent minions to find her and bring her back to him? Days, at the most. Leaving town wouldn't help; she had witnessed in the past how determined he could be when someone tried to get away from him before he was finished with them, and she had no doubt she fell under that particular category. He had spent years training her so that she could be the Master of her own clan one day; he wouldn't let her disappear so easily. It would have been simpler if she could have made him believe she was dead, but he was her Sire, and there was no way to fool him. That left her once again with precious few choices. After much brooding and scowling at the now empty bottle in her hands, she concluded that her safest bet was to hide in plain sight. If she worded the request right, Nathanael would certainly—probably, maybe—give her the distance she needed to be safe, at least long enough for her to catch her footing. What would happen once he got tired of waiting without results was an entirely different story, but until then, she would be out of harm's way. Provided that he accepted her lie. And since he would see right through her if she lied to his face... While exploring the house earlier, she had noticed the computer stuck in a corner next to the window, making an angle with the wall entirely covered with books. She went and took a few pages from the printer, folding them carefully before sliding them into her jacket's pocket. While she was at it, she swiped a pen, too. "Petty theft, Lilia? Who would have thought?" Lilia struggled not to look back up to the mezzanine; doing so would have allowed Vincent to see the surprise on her features, and she couldn't have him believe that she hadn't realized he was observing her—even if it was the truth. "What can I say,” she shrugged, pocketing the pen. “I'm evil, after all." He snickered. “Oh yes, stealing a ten cent pen is definitely high up there on your list of crimes, right next to murder." "What a pain,” she murmured to herself, wishing she had already left, and was almost startled when he echoed her thoughts. "Why don't you leave? The sun set ten minutes ago, I thought you would have been long gone by now." Frowning, she glanced at the window, noticing for the first time that the frame of light around its heavy drapes had disappeared. She had been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn't even felt the sunset. Sliding a mask of indifference over her features, she took the few steps that led her to the foot of the staircase and stopped. Vincent was at the top, looking down at her, and he frowned when she batted her

eyelashes at him. "And leave without a goodbye kiss, lover? How could I, after all we've shared?" The shock on his face was simply delicious, as was the sudden surge of desire tinting his scent, and she laughed at him. His confusion only grew, soon turning into anger when he realized she was playing with him. "Out, Lilia. And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from me. Far away." She smirked at him and blew him a mocking kiss from the tip of her fingers before turning away, but as soon as she had stepped out of his home, the smirk disappeared as the reality of her situation crashed down on her. With a few moments of bewitched insanity, she had lost everything. And gained nothing in return but a scar that would never disappear and the promise of a premature death.

Chapter 6 Finding a place to call her lair took some time, but it wasn't as difficult as Lilia had feared. Haventown had been a high point of vampire activity for decades, and a market had developed for those who knew where to look. Lilia had been around for more than nine years and she had a vague idea of whom to talk to in order to find what she wanted. The first thing she had to procure was the same thing a human needed most. She had some money stashed away, but it was in the catacombs, too close to Nathanael's lair for her to risk retrieving it that night. Instead, she found a nicely busy nightclub and put to practice her pickpocket abilities. It would have been faster to kill a couple of the better dressed partygoers, but after Jordan's earlier warning, she preferred not to tempt fate. More than once, she looked around her, expecting to see him there, before realizing her imagination was playing tricks on her mind. He had not followed her, and instead had let her go as he had said he would. Fool. If she had been human and he vampire, she would have kept him chained in her closet until the end of her own natural life. By midnight, she had enough cash to approach the woman who had a reputation to be the vampire population's realtor agent, and one of the strongest unlicensed magic practitioners in town. Lilia supposed that being able to set a vamp on fire with a word helped to keep the customers in line. She was more uncomfortable than ever at being near anything magical at all, but she didn't regret it when the woman opened the door, took one look at her, and announced with the most determined tone that she had just what Lilia was looking for. She might have been a seer, because, Lilia was soon forced to admit it, she led her to the perfect lair. "The mausoleum is over two hundred years old,” the woman explained as she walked with Lilia through one of the town's largest graveyards. “Marble both inside and out, perfectly maintained. There are narrow windows for light, but they're angled in such a way that sunlight does not shine any farther than one yard inside, at the most. If that's still a problem for you, we could easily find a way to obstruct them. The inside would be darker however." Lilia made a noncommittal noise; she wanted to see more than the outside before she decided if the place was suitable. The woman didn't appear to notice her lack of answer and preceded her inside, pushing the door open with some difficulty. "It is the original door,” she commented. “Solid wood, four inches thick. And as you can see...” She

demonstrated the use of the heavy lock, which bolted the door to the wall in three places. “...easy to close." One checkmark in the ‘pro’ column. If she was to live alone, Lilia definitely needed to feel safe. They stepped further in, and Lilia was surprised; judging from the outside, she had thought there would be more space than what she saw. It might have been due however to the thick stone caskets that lined the walls higher than she was tall, one above the other. The only other things in here were the unlit torches on three walls, and an altar of marble in the center of the room. "This part of the mausoleum comes unfurnished,” the woman said, businesslike, as she snapped her fingers and lit all three torches at once. “Please note however that all the sarcophagi are empty and devoid of religious symbols. One of the previous owners took it upon himself to ... clean things up." The note of amusement in her voice said that there was a story behind this casual remark, but Lilia didn't ask the obvious question. Instead, she gave the room, which had to be about seven feet by eight or nine feet, another, longer look, and failed to see what she expected. "You said thatthis part of the mausoleum is unfurnished. That would imply that there's another part that's furnished." The woman smiled. “I knew you'd pick up on that. Here.” She walked to the far wall, and, to Lilia's amazement, walked right through it in between two columns of caskets. “It's a simple glamour,” she called out, now invisible. “I created it myself. Why don't you come in and see the other room?" Still slightly baffled, Lilia walked to the wall, touching around until she knew how wide the opening was before she stepped through and discovered the rest of the mausoleum. "There you are. So what do you think?" There wasn't much light yet, but Lilia thought that it was simply quite amazing, although she didn't voice the sentiment. “Is this still part of the mausoleum?" "Indeed, it is,” the woman nodded, and lit two more pillar candles with a snap of her fingers. The room was smaller than the front one, and the walls were the same polished marble as the rest of the edifice. On the left side of the entrance, a large bed took up most of a wall. It was just a frame and mattress, but it looked in good condition and clean. The candles the woman had lit were set in niches carved into the walls, out of the way of anything flammable. "The plumbing, I am afraid, is rudimentary,” she said, leading Lilia to the other end of the room and pointing to an opening in the wall. Lilia peered in. The stones in there weren't as refined as the rest of the room; a pipe was sticking from high up on one wall, an on/off valve to the side, and the ground consisted in a lattice of metal slates with enough room between them to allow the water to fall through into the hole dug below. Rudimentary, as the woman had said, but even Nathanael's lair, which was home to four dozens vampires, didn't have anything as nice. "How much?” she asked as she walked back toward the bed side of the room again and noticed an electric plug there. If she was to live on bagged blood—because even that would be better than prostituting herself to humans with a kink for being bitten—a fridge might come in handy. Maybe a

television, too. She wasn't surprised when the woman gave a price that was almost exactly what Lilia had pocketed earlier that night. She turned the money over without batting an eyelash. The place was worth it, and they both knew it. The standard clauses applied—same amount to be paid quarterly, the place would be considered abandoned if Lilia missed a payment by more than a month—and they went over them quickly before the woman got ready to leave. Just as she was about to open the door, she offered to do a spell, free of charge, that would alert Lilia when someone came to her door, giving her time to hide if needed. After a brief hesitation, Lilia accepted. If Nathanael was as angry as she expected him to be about her failure and desertion, a few seconds warning might be the difference between dust and survival. Alone in what was now her home, Lilia felt a wave of cold wash over her. She had lived on her own in the past, when Nathanael and she had parted ways, but it had never been for more than a few years at a time, and she had always known she would go back to him, to her clan, to her family. Now, for the first time, solitude appeared as if it would be a long-term situation. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. With a weary sigh, she went to the bedroom to pick up one of the candles before returning to the front room. Settling the candle on the altar, she pulled out the paper and pen from her pocket and started writing. It took her three hours and seven drafts before she had produced a somewhat satisfying letter. She still wasn't entirely happy with it, but sunrise was fast approaching, and she wanted to have the letter on its way to Nathanael before dawn. Sire, I failed you. Any apology I might give now would be utterly useless, and I know better than to anger you further with pleas for pardon. The fledgling you sent me fetch was dust before he even rose. Vincent Jordan saw to that. Not only that, but he put me under a spell of sorts, captured me, and used magic again to make me admit what I knew of your plans with the fledgling. He also knows where the clan's lair is, as well as how many vampires serve you, and I respectfully urge you, Sire, to find a safer place to call your own. I have disgraced myself by failing you in such a fashion, and for that I beg of you to grant me the right of exile. If it pleases you, I shall remain away from the clan, away from your eyes, until such time as I have taken revenge on Jordan. Please let me deal with him. His downfall shall be prepared with care and extremely painful so as to honor you. Forever your Childe, Lilia Using her last clean sheet of paper, she copied the words over as neatly as she could, as though her best penmanship might help convince the recipient of the truth of her words. She certainly needed all the help she could get. Once she was done, she read the letter again before signing it twice, first with her name, then with a few drops of her blood. Then, with gestures that had been born in another life, she folded the paper and sealed it with the dark red wax that had pooled around the wick of her candle as she was writing. All she needed now was to find a messenger; she knew exactly where to go for one. As she did, the

words she had written echoed in her mind, along with the hope that Nathanael would accept them as true and grant her request. If he didn't ... well, she would think about that once she got to that point. It was only after she had given her letter to a minion she thought she could trust that Lilia allowed herself to think of Jordan. Was it possible that he might be out and hunting at this time? It would have been just like him to do something like that. She would need to keep an eye on him, and make sure that he didn't get himself killed—and her as well in the process. **** The night he let Lilia free, Vincent didn't patrol. It was an unusual occurrence for him; the few times over the years he hadn't gone out after sunset to perform his Special Enforcer duties he had simply been too ill to do so. He wasn't ill this time, but in his current state of mind, he might as well have shown up unarmed at Nathanael's doorstep. There were too many things going on in his head for him to be able to fight. The first thing he did, after Lilia had left, was to perform the ritual that revoked a vampire's invitation into a home. He had done it often as a part of his job, but it was the first time he had ever needed to do it for himself. He hoped it would be the last time too. After that, he sat down in his living room, inches from the spot where Lilia had been chained earlier, and smoked his way through a pack of cigarettes, trying to come to terms with what had happened to him. To them. It would have been easy to place the fault on Don, or on Jeanie, but the truth was that Vincent had requested a spell from Don that would make his opponent friendly. He could simply have knocked her out, chained her up, and thrown a truth-speaking spell at her like he had ended up doing. But no, he had wanted to try something new. He could only blame himself that it hadn't worked as he had hoped. It would have been even easier to hold Lilia responsible, but again the reality was that she had suggested marriage, a human ceremony and human vows, while Vincent had pushed things further and offered to become her Mate. He had given his neck to a vamp, he couldn't really guilt her for having taken it. On the contrary, he ought to consider himself lucky that she hadn't taken more than a mouthful of his blood. Lucky, also, that he hadn't tasted more than a few drops of her blood himself. Some accounts he had read implied that vampire blood was potent, and addictive. The last thing he needed, especially now, was to start craving another taste of vampire blood. Especially Lilia's. So, with no one else to blame but himself, Vincent considered what he knew of Matings, briefly standing to grab a book on the shelves and refreshing his memory by reading over the one and only chapter, among his extensive collection of books dealing with vampires, that talked about the subject. The good part was that there was no catch or detail he had forgotten, but that also meant that he knew very little about the bond he had created with Lilia other than the fact that it was unbreakable. He wished he had let her say everything she knew about it. It was a bit late for regrets now. The one thing he forcefully refused to think about was the promise he had made over Peter's dead body. He had no intention of committing suicide by proxy by killing Lilia now. At the very least, she would die when he would, be it by foul play in one of his hunts or of natural causes in a few decades. In the early morning, he went to bed as confused as he had been hours earlier, but with the resolve that he would put that misadventure behind him. He wouldn't be able to erase the two marks on his throat, nor would he ever forget that sword hanging over Lilia and him, that whichever of them died first would leave the other in a world of agony, but he had to keep on living, had to keep doing his job. He had made a vow on his mother's tomb, repeated it on Peter's, and that vow, at least, he intended to keep. He

would fight vampires all his life. Therefore, the next night, he prepared as he usually did and went out just as the sun was sinking below the horizon. His usual route took him first through the main streets of the town and a few random dark alleys, and then to a couple of different graveyards each night. It wasn't easy to catch vampires in the act of feeding on unwilling humans, but years of experience and the instinct he had developed told him where to look. If he managed to dust at least two vampires in a night, he could go home satisfied. After a few days, he could almost have believed that the whole Mating thing had never happened. He didn't feel any different. Nothing had changed, and he had fallen back into his routine. And if he thought of Lilia, sometimes, when his scar itched or tingled, it was only to wonder if she had left town as he had suggested. As for the dreams ... well, he was young and didn't have a girlfriend. It wasn't completely unexpected that his mind would replay the best sexual experience of his life every night or so. **** Night after night, Lilia followed Jordan. Sometimes, she preceded him to get rid of a vamp she had noticed before him, but most of the time, she had his back. More than once, she had to restrain herself not to yell at him to stop being so irresponsible and start paying attention to what was going on around him. The simple fact that he still hadn't noticed her after a month was a testament to how careless he was, and it made Lilia wonder how he had managed to survive so long. Day after day, Lilia dreamed of Vincent. And if at first she saw herself fighting him, killing him, turning him, taking out her frustrations at having been Mated without her consent, the dreams soon returned to what they had been that first day after the spell. Sexual dreams that left her panting and craving for what she couldn't have, what the idea of another man in her bed couldn't replace.

Chapter 7 It had been two and half years since Emma had left him, and Vincent had been single ever since. And lonely. He wished he could have found someone to share his life, like Don and Jeanie had, but somehow he seemed doomed to remain alone. There had been a couple of one-night mistakes during that time, with women who were only interested in him because he was a Special Enforcer, and he had been aware of it when falling into bed with them. There had also been Lilia—magically induced love, gone as soon as it had started, unlike the Mating marks he still wore and the persistent memories that still plagued him three months after the incident. And, perhaps because of this glimpse of what could have been, he was lonely, terribly so, night after night. He missed more than the physical side of a relationship though. It was also the companionship and support. He wished he had someone to talk to when days seemed to have no end and he had nothing else to do than wait for night, someone to come with him when he scoured the town in search of vampires to catch red fanged, someone to help him, even. After Peter, Vincent had never looked for a partner, finding that the magic support Don provided had been more than enough; his friend was good at what he did, and Vincent would not let two accidents in seven years fool him into thinking otherwise. Emma had fought by his side for a while; fresh out of the academy, she had sought him out and asked to shadow him for a few weeks. It had turned into more than a few weeks, and more than a learning experience. She had been a good Special Enforcer, but fangs too close to her neck had put an end to both their professional and personal relationship. So most nights, Vincent was alone. And wishing for someone to talk to. Someone to spar with, when nights were slow. Someone to simply be with.

And all he had was Lilia. She had started showing up during his patrols a few weeks back, although he now suspected that she had been following him even before that. At first he had believed her claim that it was a coincidence she had come across him, but when it had happened repeatedly, he had realized it wasn't. She was stalking him. Every single night. He had tried to ignore her as well as he could, but it had become harder and harder as time passed and she joined his fights without hesitating. Worse; at first he had threatened to stake her to make her leave him alone, and now it had come to the point where they had saved each other's life a couple of times already. And she was there again tonight, joining him even though he had not told her he planned to scout an area in the factory district. "Not your usual hunting grounds,” she observed without preamble as she caught up with him from a side alley. He glanced at her, wondering how she had found him but unwilling to ask. Wondering where she found the money to buy silk shirts like the one she was wearing with her usual leather pants and boots; it was of a red so dark it seemed black until it caught the light at the right angle. Wondering, also, when he had started noticing what she wore. "A cop I know had reported suspicious activity around here,” he explained, focusing again on the hunt rather than on the vampire at his side. “There used to be some harmless vamps in the neighborhood working as security guards at night around the factories, but it seems they've all disappeared over the past week or so." The only hint he had that Lilia had been listening was the small snort she gave at hearing that vampires had been working here; from what he had pieced together from a couple of semi-discussions they had had, she had little more than contempt for vampires who worked for humans. He wasn't sure whether she was aware she was doing exactly that—except that he wasn't even paying her for her help. "Do you think,” he started, but she shushed him with a finger to her lips before pointing at a side alley. All he could see there were shadows, but he followed nonetheless when she angled her steps that way. Almost immediately, people—vampires, Vincent's instinct told him—started emerging from the alley; Lilia came to an instant halt, as they did, looking bemused. One of them came forward; Vincent knew her, she was another of Nathanael's Childer. "Lilia? Our Sire has been worried for you. Have you..." She had briefly looked at Vincent when approaching, but she suddenly gave him a second look, and this time it was clear she recognized him too. Her eyes shifted back to Lilia, this time filled with incomprehension. "He's here and you haven't killed—" She was crumbling to ashes before she could finish. Lilia had jumped forward, pulling a stake from the

back of her pants and using it with the precision Vincent had come to expect from her. What he hadn't expected was for her to start the fight—not when there were a dozen vampires in front of them from her own clan. Apparently, they hadn't expected it either, because she had killed two more before they started reacting. What followed was an incredible mess. The remaining vampires seemed enraged by Lilia's betrayal and rushed on her all at once, hindering each other rather than working together. Vincent merely watched, dumbstruck, until her glare reminded him that helping her might be a good idea for his own sake. He joined in the fight and let instinct take over and guide his stake through one chest after another until there were only the two of them left standing, and a man who hadn't taken part in the fight. Vincent realized he was human, trapped in a thrall judging by his faraway look, just as Lilia was literally leaping upon him, and his warning shout was too late. Caught in the heat of the battle, Lilia did not notice it wasn't a vampire she was staking until blood erupted from his chest as he collapsed. It couldn't have been the first time she had ever taken a life, far from it, Vincent knew that; but by the way her eyes went wide when the man clutched his bloody chest, he almost could have believed she had never killed before. She started backing away as Vincent came to kneel by the victim, and by the time the man was dead, she was nowhere to be found. **** Three nights passed. Lilia didn't come back. Vincent would never have thought he would actually miss her. He would never have thought he would set out to see her for no other reason than he missed her. She had shown him where her mausoleum was, one night, after they had fought near it, but he had never been inside it. With one hand flat against the door of her lair, he paused and hesitated; thoughtlessly, he brought his free hand to his neck and the two silver scars there. They tingled and he rubbed at them absently, something that had become a habit in the past few months; it was something he did when he was troubled or upset, and he didn't dare question the comfort it usually brought him. He heard the sound of metal on metal—a lock?—and then the door opened in front of him, revealing Lilia on the other side of the threshold. She was rubbing at the mark on her throat in a mirror image of what Vincent was doing. They dropped their hands at the same time. "Jordan,” she said coolly. “Took you longer than I thought." She turned her back to him and walked back into the mausoleum. Vincent followed, a little surprised by the semi-welcome, and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the empty bottles, most of them broken, littering the marble floor. Lilia picked a mostly full one from the top of a stone altar and took a healthy swig before noticing the look he was giving her. "What?” she snapped defensively. “Can't have a last drink before you do it?" He stared at her blankly. “Before I do what?" It was her turn to stare, head tilted to one side, bottle seemingly forgotten in her hand. “Aren't you here

to dust me?” she asked cautiously. "Dust you?” Vincent repeated, not understanding what her point was. “Why would I? Other than the usual reasons, I mean. If I haven't done it so far..." "Killed a human, didn't I?" The quiet words startled him. They weren't repentant in the slightest, and yet Lilia was expecting death in return for what she was admitting. "It's not like you intended to kill a human,” he pointed out, using the same words he had repeated to himself for the past three days. He watched as, with slow movements, she brought the bottle back to her lips and took a long swallow of the golden liquid it contained; her eyes never left him. "So, why are you here?” she asked after a few moments, quickly adding: “Not that I care, just ... wondering." Unable to hold her gaze, he pulled his eyes away and took a few steps around the mausoleum. He had no good answer to give to her question. He had missed her, but he certainly wasn't going to admit as much, her laughter would have been too hard to bear. "It's ... interesting what you've done with the place,” he commented with a slight smile, pointedly not looking at the bottles that littered the floor. Three large torches around the room provided sufficient light to read, and judging by the books piled up on top of the altar, Lilia seemed to read a lot. That and the bottles were the only signs she lived there however; he wondered where she slept. Surely not in one of the stone caskets? Lilia didn't say a word while Vincent looked around, his curiosity unhidden, and when he glanced back at her, she was still observing him. "So ... is that why you haven't been showing up during my rounds anymore?” he asked her. “Because you thought I would stake you?" The small shrug she gave was the only answer he needed. "Why do you do it anyway?” he continued, coming toward her as she crossed her arms over her chest, bottle still hanging from her fingers. “Patrol with me, I mean. That doesn't go so well with the vamp image." She shook her head and laughed. “Because making courtesy visits goes any better withyour image? Come on, Jordan. You know why. If you'll just admit it to yourself." He didn't know what she was hinting at, and he didn't like being in the dark like this. As usual when he was tense, he reached to rub his neck—and froze when Lilia nodded. "That's it, exactly,” she said quietly, with a hint of resignation to her voice. “Can't help it. And believe me, I've tried. Tried to stay away from you. Tried to leave this fucking town. Tried not to—" In a sudden, soul shattering moment, the pieces of a puzzle Vincent hadn't even been aware of clicked

together, revealing a too familiar picture he had tried so very hard to forget. "Mates,” was all he said, a murmur so quiet it barely passed his lips, and it explained everything. Why he had never staked Lilia. Why he was so incredibly lonely. Why she had joined his fight. Why they worked so well together. Why he had missed her presence in the last few nights. Why the scars that marred his skin were still so sensitive, and why his fingers were always so attracted to them. It answered many questions, but it raised a new one, too. “So ... what happens now?" **** It felt strange, Lilia reflected as she watched Jordan walk around her mausoleum, to see him there, strange that he had come to her, for no reason she could understand. No reason he wanted to share, also, because when he talked again, he ignored her question, choosing instead to comment on her decorating abilities. "It's ... interesting what you've done with the place." Her first reaction to his words was embarrassment. The second, a strong rejection of the embarrassment. She didn't care what anyone thought of her cleaning skills, let alone him. Because, he hadn't said it outright, but the meaning of his words was clear. The mausoleum was indeed a mess; she had been drinking herself into oblivion since she had killed that human three nights earlier, and it showed. It wasn't so much remorse that motivated her; she had been so intent on killing all the vamps before they could report to Nathanael and tell him she was fighting alongside Jordan that she hadn't noticed the extra heartbeat before it had been too late. Still, even if it had been an accident, she had been sure that Jordan would find her, and dust her, as he had promised he would. Now, he had said he wouldn't. Why not? Was he afraid of the consequence staking her would have for him? Or was this his way of paying back the help she had been giving him in the past weeks? "So ... is that why you haven't been showing up during my rounds anymore?” he asked, abandoning his inspection to look back toward her. “Because you thought I would stake you?" She shrugged, unwilling to say the words, and crossed her arms in a barely conscious defensive gesture when he came closer to her. "Why do you do it anyway? Patrol with me, I mean. That doesn't go so well with the vamp image." "Because making courtesy visits goes any better withyour image?” she laughed. “Come on, Jordan. You know why. If you'll just admit it to yourself." He frowned under her expectant gaze, and his hand came up to rub at his neck. At the marks there. Even if he didn't consciously know it, his body did. She had watched him make this very same gesture dozens of times, since she had started stalking him. And every time he did, she wanted to replace his fingers with her mouth. "That's it, exactly,” she nodded. “Can't help it. And believe me, I've tried. Tried to stay away from you. Tried to leave this fucking town. Tried not to—"

She stopped herself just in time from confessing a lot more than she was even comfortable admitting to herself. She hadn't wanted to believe it, in the beginning, had fought the feeling with all her strength. But if at first she had managed to convince herself she only followed him, night after night, to make sure he wouldn't get himself killed, it had soon become clear that it was more than that. Her step always quickened, when she knew he was close, and she was sure her heart would have, too, had it still been beating. Then, there were the dreams... "Mates." His word was a murmur, but it startled her as though it had been a shout. Mates. For him, that was all there was to it. And it was already something big in itself; neither of them could deny the pull of it, not anymore. But for her, over the past weeks, it had grown into more than that. The unspoken and reluctant admiration she had developed for her adversary over the years had turned into something quite different as she had slowly gotten to know him by following him and then fighting with him rather than against him. And when the dreams had started, not simply memories of the night they had Mated anymore but full fantasies in which they were lovers, in love, it had been too late to deny it anymore. "So ... what happens now?" The question was unexpected, and Lilia delayed answering it by taking a long swallow from the bottle she had momentarily forgotten she held. Jordan seemed a little ... lost, as though he were surprised by what he had just discovered. Could he have beenthat oblivious? Or was it his denial that had blinded him? "Nothing happens,” she answered in response to his question. “There's not a damn thing we can do about the Mating. It's going to last until one of us dies, and the other will follow to the grave soon after that. And honestly, from having seen what it does to a vamp, I hope I'll be the first one to go." He shook his head. “No, I mean ... are you going to keep patrolling with me?" She raised an eyebrow. “You want me to stop?" It didn't really matter if he did. She wasn't going to stop. She wouldn't be able to. Simply staying away for three nights had taken all the resistance she had—and a lot of alcohol on top of that. It took him a few seconds to answer, and when he did, he almost sounded surprised by his own answer. "No. I don't want you to stop." She relaxed ever so slightly and shrugged. "I won't, then. Gotta spend my excess energy somehow. And at least that way I'm sure you're not going to get yourself killed stupidly." He snorted at that, and, to her surprise, pulled the bottle of alcohol from her hand and took a swig of it. She chuckled at his grimace of disgust. "How can you bear to drink that?” he coughed, returning the bottle to her.

"That's nothing,” she replied with a grin. “The real question is, how can I bear to live on cow's blood. Believe me, there's nothing as disgusting as that. Whoever said that blood was blood obviously never tasted it." He grimaced again, this time going as far as to make gagging noises, and she laughed, the fleeting thought crossing her mind that it would be easy to get used to that beginning camaraderie he seemed willing to share with her.

Chapter 8 Things became a bit simpler after Vincent had talked to Lilia and finally understood why she had joined his fight. Now that he didn't have to worry anymore about her motivations, he could more easily accept her presence, and her help. It meant that more vampires were staked each night, to the point that the police officer who received Vincent's semi-monthly kill report and invoice, himself a vampire, started asking, none too subtly, if he was maybe staking vampires on sight without proof that they had killed anyone. That would have been illegal, of course, and Vincent truthfully denied it under oath. The thing was, he didn't need proof if the vamps attacked him first, and since he had back up, he had started patrolling into areas of town he knew were more dangerous, which upped his chances of being attacked. He could have kept the extra money, but an edge of guilt demanded that he share it with Lilia. After all, he tried to rationalize, he would have paid any other partner he might have found; it was only fair. Moreover, if it meant that she could buy some of the more higher end animal blood rather than complain about how cow's blood was barely edible and left her stomach rumbling ... well, he definitely wouldn't mind that bit of over sharing to stop. Understanding her motives also meant being more relaxed around her, and even though he usually tried to hide it, he was growing fond of her humor. She had a knack for coming up with the cheesiest, lamest jokes in the middle of their fights, but the matter of fact way she delivered them usually confounded her adversaries enough to facilitate her task. Not that she needed any help. He had always admired her fighting skills, even when they were used against him, and he was determined to ask her, one of these nights, when things were slow, if she wanted to spar with him. He had a feeling they would both enjoy it. The only aspect of the whole thing that wasn't easy was Don's reactions to the situation. He hadn't been thrilled to discover that Vincent had let Lilia leave without dusting her and had reminded him repeatedly that she was the one who had killed Peter. Vincent knew that all too well yet he refused to go down that line of thought; the guilt at not fulfilling his promise was still present. So Don had changed his approach, and every time Vincent needed magic performed, he would bring up again how dangerous it was to trust Lilia, how she would certainly turn against Vincent at the worst possible moment, how he could have found another partner, a human one, if he needed the help that much. He went as far as to introduce him to a friend of Jeanie's who was considering becoming a Special Enforcer. Vincent took one look at the guy, suppressed his laughter and politely explained that he already had a partner and didn't need the help. At least, Don had never said a thing where Lilia could hear. They had barely talked to each other the few times they had met, limiting themselves to strained greetings. He supposed that Don was too wary of her to want to talk to her, and he could imagine that Lilia wasn't too pleased herself with Don's responsibility in her Mating to Vincent. A couple of times, Vincent had come close to simply admitting why he believed—no, why heknew —that Lilia would never do a thing to endanger him. Admit that they were Mates, for better or for worse, and that they were trying to make the best out of it. However, despite being tired of hearing the same arguments over and again to dissuade him from working with Lilia, he had managed to keep quiet about

that. He didn't particularly like hiding things from his best friend, butthis would have been too complicated to explain. Especially when he didn't know anymore how much the Mating influenced him. He and Lilia fought quite well together; it could have been because of the link they shared, or it could simply have been a result to having battled so often in the past that they could predict each other's moves with pinpoint accuracy. Then, there was the matter of the dreams. He had had flashbacks of his night with Lilia, of their Mating, ever since it had happened, but the dreams had become more vivid since they had started hunting together every night. He had tried to tell himself it was due to the amount of time he spent with her and the particularly depressing state of his sex life; but if it had only been a matter of being horny, wouldn't any other woman have had the same effect on him? It was her image, and her image only, that helped him reach orgasm whenever the need became stronger than the embarrassment of having to face her again knowing what he had done. Was that another effect of the Mating? Or was his libido just obsessed with the beautiful, sexy woman he worked with, as it had once been obsessed with Emma, and ignoring the fact that she happened to be a vampire? Things were simpler, yes. But at the same time, they could hardly have been more complicated. Certainly, Lilia wasn't doing anything to help, quite the contrary in fact. For one thing, not a night passed without her making some kind of innuendo, and sometimes it seemed she was trying her best to embarrass him. For another, she had fallen into the habit of touching the marks on his neck whenever she pleased; Vincent was practically sure that, like the innuendos, she only did it to unnerve him, and he tried the best he could not to react and give her what she wanted, it would have only encouraged her. But it was difficult to pretend nothing was happening when with a simple touch of her fingers she could set the nerves of his body on fire. Difficult, also, not to let her see how hard he sometimes got when she did it too often during a slow night. His jacket was his best ally when that happened, as it was just long enough to hide his crotch, but he suspected that she knew. He would have to say something, one of these nights, and make her stop. Whether she was aware of the effect her touch had on him or not, things simply couldn't continue like this, or he wouldn't remain sane for much longer. **** "Lilia?" It always startled her, to hear him speak her name like this, without animosity. Although she would have liked it even more if he had put a bit more emotion in the word; his hatred for her had apparently disappeared, and she wished she knew what he felt where she was concerned. As for replying, she didn't trust herself to pronouncehis name without betraying her feelings. It was easier to keep old habits and stick to his last name. "Jordan?" He shot her a glance before looking straight ahead again, and continued walking. "Can I ask you for a favor?" She couldn't help it. She smirked. The opening was just too good and with the kind of naughty thoughts she had been entertaining since she had slipped her arm around him... "Depends. Is it anexchange of favors? Wanna get down and dirty, maybe?" Technically, they both were dirty already, mud and ashes staining their clothes and hands, but he caught her drift. The blush creeping into his cheek was just delicious. Sometimes, she forgot just how young he

was. Forgot that the fighter act hid something softer at the core. Sometimes, it was just better to forget. "God, weren't you supposed to be a lady? One would never know, at hearing you talk. Just for once can't you..." "Play your game?” she cut in, irritated that he had even hinted at a past about which he knew nothing. “Way I see it, I'm already playing too much." Her retort was true, in a sense. Weeks of fighting her own kind, of feeding on foul animal blood, of helping a human—what was it all if not a game? She was pretending to be something other than what she was, and it was all an act. She was a vampire. A Master vampire. She should have been anywhere else, doing anything else other than help a Special Enforcer get home. "It's not a ... Forget it. Forget I even said anything." He tried to move away from her and walk without her support, but she tightened her arm around his waist. "Don't be stupid, Jordan. Your ankle could be broken." "It's not,” he spat. “And anyway, why do you even care if it's just a game for you?" Snickering, she allowed his weight to rest on his injured ankle for the next step or two; he deserved nothing else, but his hiss of pain was still strangely unpleasant. "I don't care,” she assured him. “Just earning my blood, that's all." His snort made his disbelief clear. “That's all, Lilia darling? You're not doing it because of the Mating, maybe?" She barely caught herself before she could snap at him; he would have enjoyed that too much. Instead, she stopped walking, forcing him to a halt, and when she turned to face him, she brought her free hand up to his neck and past the collar of his shirt to touch the raised scar. Her mark. "Well, now that you mention it, if you offered me another drink, I wouldn't say no, lover. So hot and delicious and so fucking erotic..." The widening of his eyes, acceleration of his heartbeat, and the subtle change in his scent were all dead giveaways, but he still tried to pretend he wasn't affected by her words, like he always pretended her touch didn't do a thing to him. He failed when his voice cracked on the last word. "I was there. I don't need a graphic description." She made a mental note that he hadn't addressed her half request for his blood, but didn't press the question. She hadn't really been serious anyway, she was rather certain he wasn't as stupid as those idiots who willingly offered blood to vampires for the thrill of it. Nevertheless, she couldn't not go after that waver in his voice. "So you remember?” she leered. His hand trembled as he snatched hers away from his neck, and only then did she realize that she had

still been caressing her mark in an involuntary gesture. No wonder he was so wound up. "Can we ... not talk about it?” he requested as he took a step forward, giving her the choice to start walking too or let go of him. She did neither, and, with a strong hold on his waist, stopped him again. "Just answer the question, Jordan. Do. You. Remember? Do you still dream about it? Do you get so hot and hard when you think about it that—" His heart was pounding now, and he refused to meet her eyes. “Stop it! Just ... stop." Accepting that she had pushed things far enough, she started walking again, silently taking more of his weight on her in a wordless apology. After a few steps, his heartbeat had calmed and he took a deep breath. His voice was cool but no louder than a murmur when he said: "Yeah ... I remember." Something warm stirred inside Lilia. Gods, she was pitiful. For a few steps, she mentally ran through all the insults she could think of, before realizing that pitiful was probably the most accurate description for herself and gave up. She had feelings for him, and while she enjoyed teasing him, she couldn't stand it when it upset him that much. Four months earlier, she had been ready to kill him, and now she couldn't even annoy him without feeling threads of guilt. Completely and utterly pitiful. "So,” she mumbled after a few instants. “What was the favor?" She very deliberately did not look toward him and kept staring straight ahead, but from the corner of her eye she could still see him turn his face toward her. "Huh?” he asked, so eloquently. "You wanted a favor,” she sighed. “What was it?" "That was ... ten minutes ago! We've crossed half the town and now you want to know..." The urge was strong to roll her eyes and call him a drama queen, but Lilia managed to keep her cool. Not looking at him helped, slightly. "Yes. I do want to know. That would be the reason I'm asking." For long, long seconds he was silent, to the point that Lilia was about to repeat her question when he finally said: “It was ... nothing, really." Lilia snorted. She was trying to be helpful; he could at least help her help him. "Must have been something,” she insisted, “seeing the fuss you made about it." "I did not make a fuss! You're the one ... God, you're impossible! Why do I even bother trying to have a civilized conversation with you when clearly you—" "Just tell me what it was, Jordan,” she interrupted him, grinning at his ramblings. They had finally reached his home; she let go of him as he rested a hand on the door and fished his keys

out of his jacket pocket with the other. "Don't call me that,” he grumbled. "Don't call you what?” she shot back. “Jordan? It's your name, isn't it?" "Yeah. And no one but my fifth grade teacher ever called me that. And he couldn't stand me." "Tell you what,Vincent . Tell me what the favor was and I'll try to remember about the name thing. You get two requests for the price of one. Better make it good, honey." He rolled his eyes when she chuckled and fumbled to put the key in its lock. Only when he had unlocked the door did he look at her again. "I just...” He hesitated for a second, and sighed deeply before continuing. “You've got to stop touching it, OK?" Lilia frowned, unsure what he meant. “Touching what?" "What do you think?” he rolled his eyes. “My neck. The scar. Every time you do it ... Why do you think I sprained my ankle?" For a half second, she was taken aback. She had indeed noticed that he had tripped over nothing, but a couple of vampires had attacked right after that and she had forgotten about it. Still, she wasn't going to let him have this one. "My mark,” she said simply. “My privilege." And just to prove her point, she reached toward his neck and wormed her way past his collar again to stroke the two raised scars. He shivered under her touch and his eyelids dropped. She took the opportunity to step closer, and when he opened his eyes again, she was only inches from him. Pretty blue eyes, all surprised and wide and just a little hopeful. Pretty lips, with just the tip of his tongue coming out to wet them. "Lilia, don't...” he breathed, and she could feel the caress of the word against her lips. "Shhh..." For the first time since they had become Mates, she kissed him. She had wanted to do it quite often in the past weeks; hell, she might even have thought about it, briefly, once or twice or ten times, back when they were still trying to kill each other. But she hadn't, not back then, not more recently, afraid that such a simple contact would make her want more. Afraid, also, that he might not respond. She had been right on the first part; after only a second her whole being was aching for him and she pressed herself to him, trapping him between the door and her body. As for the second ... no fears to be had there. He wanted it—the kiss, more—as much as she did. Or so she thought, until he stopped everything by closing the door in her face.

Chapter 9 The simple kiss, just lips on lips, surprised him so much that Vincent didn't even think for one second about stopping it. And so it lasted, and deepened, and set his body on fire while making him crave for more as he clung to Lilia, his body pressed to hers, mindless of anything but the overwhelming sense of right having her in his arms brought him. And if a simple kiss felt that good ... he was impatient to rediscover how much better more than a kiss would feel. He opened the door behind him, and stumbled through, wincing when all of his weight rested on his ankle for a second but forgetting the pain already at the idea of what was to come. Except ... He had been pulling Lilia with him when he stepped in, but the invisible barrier at the threshold had stopped her rather abruptly, separating them. Eyes wide and heart beating too fast, he watched her as she stood there, her palms flat against the wall of thin air that separated them, and murmured his name pleadingly. And he realized what he had been about to do. There was a world of difference between working with Lilia every night, relying on her and trusting her with his life, and taking her to his bed, and at that instant the latter seemed like it would lead to nothing but trouble. He patrolled with her because, whether they liked it or not, they were Mates and staying away from each other felt uncomfortable. But to do more than that? Insanity. He could already hear Don telling him that vampire/human couples always ended in blood or ashes, sometimes both. He knew the statistics, he had given them to clients often enough, and now it was all he could think of as Lilia waited for him to invite her inside. His palm was damp with sweat on the metal doorknob, and he gripped it tighter. “Sorry” was all he said before closing the door on an incredulous Lilia. And he was sorry, definitely, as he limped to the shower, then to the mezzanine, to lie down and wait in vain for sleep. Sorry, and too frustrated to find any relief in his hand. Kicking off the stifling covers, he left his too big bed and went downstairs again, limping, to the liquor cabinet. He didn't indulge very often, but he could tell he would never find sleep without a little help. With each sip of vodka he took, his arguments crumbled. He had never judged Don's private life, even when his friend had been dating those twins back in their junior year of high school, and Don ought to give him the same respect. It wasn't as though he didn't know what he was getting himself into anyway; on the contrary, who better than he could know what having a vampire in their life meant? He was an adult, he knew all there was to know about vamps, and he could make his own decisions. The little detail that, by killing him, she would cripple herself was also something to remember. And he wasn't planning to date Lilia anyway, he just wanted to sleep with her, and he was ready to bet that she wanted no more than that either. They were both adults, both consenting, why would it have been wrong to have a little fun? When he finally crawled into bed, his head felt light and slightly buzzing but he had made his decision. As soon as he would wake, and provided that the hangover wasn't too bad and that he didn't lose his nerve, he would go to Lilia. He suspected she wouldn't be too happy with him after the way he had closed the door on her, but he was sure he would find a way to improve her mood. **** Not once, in more than a century and half of existence, had Lilia known rejection when she had offered someone sex. That Jordan had done just that, when he was not only her Mate but also someone for whom she had feelings, left her stunned. And aching.

She was still trying to understand when she reached the mausoleum and realized that her steps had brought her back home even while her mind had remained in front of that closed door. He had wanted it, she knew that; his scent, his eyes, the way he had kissed her back, all of it pointed to the same conclusion. So why had he rejected her? Letting habit take over, she locked her door and stepped into her room, going first to the small fridge where she retrieved a jar of blood and drank from it without really tasting it or feeling her hunger be appeased. Still following her late night routine, she pinned her hair up to keep it dry and took a quick shower, loathing the cold water that slid over her skin, hungry for the heat a warm body could have offered her. Wrapping a towel around her once she was done, she turned on the television and lay down on the bed. Her fingers on the remote switched from one channel to the next, but her mind still wasn't processing what was in front of her, as she continued to try to understand what had happened to make Jordan literally shut her out. The only clue she had was that he had seemed to change his mind after he had seen her being stopped at the door and needing an invitation to come in. Had he maybe remembered at that moment what she was and why she needed to be invited? When she compared that moment to the easiness with which he had invited her in during their Mating night, she was left with a bitter taste on her tongue. She finally went to sleep just as her senses warned her of the impending sunrise, hoping that things would be clearer when night came and she saw Jordan again. She didn't have to wait that long. The sun was at its peak, or so her internal clock informed her, when the magical security alarm woke her with its light chimes, indicating that someone was on her doorstep. Furiously trying to remember if she had used the heavy bolts to lock the door when coming back, she threw on some pants and a t-shirt, forgoing the boots. The time of day clearly spelled that it wasn't a vampire at the door, so she didn't expect to have to fight. Only two humans knew she lived there, her landlady and Jordan; while she didn't have a problem with showing her body, she was in no mood to flash either of them. She knew, before she reached the door, who was there. His scent, although extremely faint, had drifted inside, carrying a mix of expectation and lust, but even without it the pounding on the door and his repeated requests that she open to him made it quite clear that it was Jordan. She debated for a second—did she want to open to him? He was the one who had locked her out after all—but the curiosity of hearing what he had to say made it too hard to resist. That and his scent was a rather clear hint that he wasn't there to stake her. She unlocked the door but didn't open it, certain he would hear the sound and know he was now free to enter. Wary of whatever sunlight might get in, she took a few steps back and stood in the middle of the room, in front of the altar, waiting for him. He stopped knocking and calling out for her, but for long seconds, nothing happened and she wondered what he was thinking, standing in front of her door. Was he going to change his mind again? Finally, the door opened and he stepped in, still slightly limping, she noticed. He remained by the door after closing it, hands in his jeans pockets and looking, of all things, sheepish. "Hi,” he said as he finally met her gaze.

She kept her face neutral, waiting to see what he would say. “Jordan." "I came...” he started, and immediately stopped, starting again after a few seconds. “About last night..." Once more, he hesitated, but the growing bulge in his pants and his scent, almost pure lust now, were much more explicit. Grinning, Lilia came forward, one slow step after the other, and her movement caused him to start speaking again, his words now slightly rushed. "I want to apologize. I mean, it was rather rude to close the door on you like that and I'm sorry I..." She was now standing in front of him, almost close enough to touch, but not touching yet. "You're sorry you what?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow. His tongue came out to wet his lips. “I'm sorry I didn't...” His breath hitched when she reached out to his shirt and started undoing the buttons, but he didn't stop her. “Sorry I didn't let you in,” he finished. “I wanted to, very, very much.” The green cotton shirt slid easily past his shoulders and she left it there, trapping his arms back but leaving his torso bare. He shivered when she slid a fingernail down his chest, pressing just hard enough to leave a slight red trail in her wake. “I guess I got ... scared." She looked up from where her fingers had just undone his jeans button and searched his eyes. “Scared of me?" He shook his head. “Not scared of you. Scared of wanting you." Slowly, so very slowly, she slid his zipper down. “We're Mates, Jordan. Wanting is normal." Proving her point, she tugged his pants down and cupped the erection that strained against his boxers; he jumped under her touch. "Your body knows it even when your brain denies it,” she murmured, leaning toward him until she could feel his breath against her lips. He didn't wait more than a second before covering her mouth with his, but his touch was still hesitant, a far cry from the searing kiss they had shared the previous night. She slid one hand to the back of his head even as the other found its way inside his boxers. He gasped when she wrapped her fingers around his cock—Gods, but she had missed the feel of him—and she took the opportunity to slide her tongue into his mouth. Finally, the fire was back, and he battled her tongue, seeking dominance even as he arched into her touch. She granted herself a few more seconds of warmth and passion before stepping back, severing all contact. He looked at her with wide eyes, looking both debauched and bereft, and she had the brief thought that she must have looked a bit like that the previous night. "Last chance to change your mind,” she told him, walking backwards toward the hidden entrance to her bedroom. “If you follow me now, you lose the right to be scared." He blinked when she slipped past the charm and disappeared from his view. She remained there for a second, just long enough to see him try to walk, realize he wouldn't manage to with his pants down his knees and pull them up. Confident that he would lose no time to join her, she rid herself of her clothes and laid on the bed to wait for him. He didn't disappoint her. For several long and delightful hours, he didn't disappoint her.

**** Fucking with Lilia was every bit as glorious as Vincent remembered. More, even. He had not thought it would happen ever again, he had certainly not intended to let it happen, but now that it had, now that they had spent half a day and the best part of a night fucking and taking catnaps in each other's arms, he couldn't really regret it. Not when it had appeased that deep-seated longing that had been plaguing him for months, and made his recollections of their Mating night pale in comparison. Even now, as he was finally catching his breath again, his body still trembled against hers from the pleasure they had drawn out of each other, and burning, erotic flashes of their day kept running through his mind. Their first time, back then under the spell, had been beautiful but short; their second time had been just as strong, just as magnificent, but the way it had ended with shock and incredulity had somewhat marred the memory. Today ... they had caught up on lost time, and many praises were given for vampire stamina and the recovery speed of young, horny, sex-deprived humans. With the way she was draped over his body, Vincent's lips were millimeters from Lilia's neck and the mark he had left there while under Don's butchered spell. Since they had started working together, she had been touching the mark on his neck whenever she pleased, and she had kissed, licked and nibbled it every time she had been able to in the last few hours. But until now Vincent had never returned the gesture. He had always felt too self-conscious to touch her when they patrolled, and for a reason he couldn't explain he hadn't dared do it as they fucked. Because it reminded him too much of their Mating, maybe? Now though, as he observed the silvery circle, just a shade paler than her skin tone in the light of the candles, he couldn't think of anything else than touching it. Hesitantly, he leaned up until his mouth met her skin, and flicked his tongue across the scar. She shuddered above him. Pleased with the result, he did it again, and this time, she moaned his name. Emboldened by her reaction, he latched on to her neck and sucked hard. One of Lilia's hand's came to the back of his head and held him where he was even as she rolled their bodies so that he was above her and, with one snap of her hips and a clever touch of her hand, guided him inside her again. As his thrusting settled into a slower pace, Vincent could feel Lilia's body trembling against his, letting him know exactly how deeply he was affecting her. He couldn't help the surge of pride he felt at that realization, and his body burned even hotter wherever her hands touched him, stroked him, urging him on. Following instincts he had so far tried to repress, he thrust inside her, deep and hard, at the same time as he bit down on her neck until he drew blood. Lilia howled and arched under him, pulling him closer, deeper with arms and legs and taking him with her into the abyss when the orgasm shook her body. And when she fell—when they did—Vincent was so shocked by the words she uttered that for a while he thought he had heard her wrong. It couldn't be, it simply couldn't. He was imagining things. Yet, before falling asleep against him, she said it again—"love you so fucking much"—and there were no longer any doubts. Rather, there was this startling realization. For Lilia, it hadn't just been a fuck. All the while, she had been making love to him, with the same intensity she had given to the act the night they had Mated. Now that he knew, Vincent couldn't believe he had ever thought otherwise. **** Lilia had not expected that Jordan would stay so long, but she definitely wasn't complaining. She had no delusions about what all of this meant to him, and she had refused herself the luxury of hope. To take

what he was offering, enjoy every second of their time together and not wonder if there would be a repeat of their sexcapades seemed like the wisest thing to do. When she came back to her senses and cracked an eye open, he was only inches from her, lying on his side, temple resting against his closed fist, looking at her with an intensity that troubled Lilia. "If you keep looking at me like that,” she yawned, “I'm going to start wondering where your stake is. You're not having second thoughts, are you? ‘Cause it was too fucking good for that." His only reaction was a slow blink, and Lilia's lips twitched at the incongruous thought that her zeal in making him come as many times as possible may have burned out too many of his brain cells. Before she could crack a joke however, he finally spoke. "Why didn't you tell me you're in love with me?" The smile died on her lips and she was sure that, had she had a pulse, her heart would have stopped beating. "In love with you?” she repeated, forcing a chuckle into her voice. “Just because we scratched a mutual itch doesn't mean I..." "You love me,” he cut in, quiet but determined. “You said so. Twice. Are you going to deny it now?" Had she really said it, Lilia wondered as she watched Vincent sit up and reach for the pack of cigarettes he had put on the nightstand. She honestly didn't remember, but she had always talked too much during sex. It was entirely possible. And mortifying. This was not the way she would have chosen to tell him. Not that she had planned to tell him in the first place. "Pillow talk, lover,” she said as she sat up next to him and leaned back against the headboard, keeping her eyes on the cigarettes pack Vincent was toying with. “Nothing more." His hands stilled and one of them came up; with a finger under her chin, he forced her to look at him. "I think you were more honest then than you're being now,” he declared, his tone almost daring her to say otherwise. Lilia remained silent. She could have kept denying it, of course, but something told her that he wouldn't change his mind about what he had heard. Not only that, but she also felt somewhat relieved to have her feelings out in the open. Months of pretending, first to herself and then to him, that it was nothing more than their Mating claim that drew her to Vincent had left her wary of any word, any action that might have given her away. The only gesture she allowed herself was the touch to his neck, simply because he denied that it affected him in any way. At least, since he knew, she didn't need to keep pretending anymore. But that still didn't answer her fear, the one thing that had kept her from speaking up ever since she had realized that she loved him—she, Lilia, was in love with a mortal ... where was a stake when you needed one? How would he react? What would he say, now that he knew? Would he put an end to their working gigs? Maybe. Would he stake her and be done with her at last? No, he couldn't do that; he would condemn himself if he did. Would he ... No, he definitely wasn't going to reciprocate the words. He

would have done so already if he had had any inclination toward it. Instead, he was immobile and quiet on her bed, his hand now cupping her chin. She risked eye contact again, and her look seemed to startle him. "I ... I should go home,” he stuttered, dropping his hand. “A new client might call, I can't afford to miss it." Slowly, Lilia nodded. After all, this was what she had thought he would do, run from her when the realization hit of what he had done. But when he still didn't move, she tilted her head to one side and raised a questioning eyebrow at him. "Going home might require moving, Jordan. Unless Don has taught you how to teleport? That'd be a nice trick." A slight blush crept into his cheeks and he drew back from her to stand. Lilia watched him as he picked up his clothes and slid them on, babbling all the while about what a good idea the hidden part of her home was. He wasn't rushing as she had imagined he would, but his heart was beating so fast that, had it been anyone else, Lilia would have been convinced he was about to have a heart attack. He wasn't doing anything she could have predicted and she was utterly confused. "So, that's it?” she asked, baffled, when, fully clothed, he made for the door. “You're just going to leave like that without another word after..." After we slept together. After I told you.She wasn't sure which one to say, and so didn't finish her question. He stilled and she counted three seconds before he looked back at her. “What am I supposed to do, Lilia? What am I even supposed to say?" She struggled to keep her voice even. “Not my decision to make. But something would be good right about now. Anything would be better than indifference." "I'm not...” he began heatedly, but cut himself off and took a deep breath before starting again, more calmly now. “I didn't come here with those kinds of feelings for you. I think you know that. And I never imagined you felt anything like that..." She bit her tongue to keep herself from talking before he was finished, and watched as his hand rose and came to rub at the silver scars on his neck. "I'd be lying if I said these words to you now. And I have no clue where that leaves us." There was a question in his eyes; she tried to answer it the best she knew how. He obviously wasn't ready or willing to go any further, and he wasn't hinting he wanted to go back either... "Want me to come by at eight tomorrow night?” She belatedly realized it was close to sunrise. “Or rather, tonight?" He shook his head; and for an instant, she thought she had misread his signals. But then he said: “Nine. I'll need to run some errands before going out to hunt." She didn't push her luck by asking if she could join the errand fun; instead, she simply nodded. He

stepped toward the entrance that would bring him back to the front room of her mausoleum, but turned one last time before walking through, giving her a lopsided smile as he said: "And it's Vincent, Lilia. Try to remember it." Lilia wasn't too sure what had just happened. But as she rolled over to find the warm spot Jordan ... no, Vincent had left in her bed, her lips curled in a true smile. He hadn't declared his undying love to her, but he hadn't dusted her either. And unless she was completely off her mark, he might just have given her a ‘maybe'. Grinning, she brought a hand to her neck and absently touched the Mating scar that had started it all while her other hand slid between her legs.

Chapter 10 When Lilia went to find Vincent at nine as promised, she had a nagging suspicion that he would have changed his mind about continuing his patrols with her. She had thought about him all day long, about what they had done and said, and if she knew him at all, he had done the same. She couldn't imagine that this much thinking wouldn't change a thing for him. For them. He had fallen into bed with her out of lust and, more or less directly, the Mating claim, nothing else; she had no delusions about that. Now that he had had time to think about it ... The question was, would he simply ignore her or demand that she leave town. She was a little surprised, and disappointed, when she got to his townhouse, to find Don's van parked in the street and to hear extra voices coming from the living room through the open window. She clearly recognized Don's voice, but there was also a third one, another man who sounded older. Was it reinforcements to stake her, or moral support to shove her out of his life for good? She almost turned back. Public humiliation was definitely not her thing, and if he wanted to dump her, they didn't need witnesses. However, as she hesitated about leaving, Vincent appeared at the window, looking out. "...have to, Dad,” he was saying. “It's my job, and...” He paused briefly as his gaze fell on Lilia, and she could see him tense slightly when she took an involuntary step forward. She stopped at the small shake of his head, wondering what was going on. “...even if you don't approve I still have to go." "Honestly, Vincent,” the older voice drifted from inside, “I don't understand you. This won't bring back your mother, and there are so many other things you could be doing." Vincent had moved from the window, and Lilia curiously observed the other man in the background, too far from the window for him to be able to see her. Vincent's father? And what was he saying about his mother? "And yetthis is what I do,” an exasperated voice responded. “Don't wait up for me, I'll be home late." The door opened at last and Jordan stepped out, his eyes immediately finding Lilia's. He smiled at her as he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, and she smiled back, thinking of nothing except getting closer to him and kissing him senseless. Then, to her dismay, he turned back to look inside. "Coming, Don?"

**** There was no mistaking Lilia's disappointment when Don tagged along for patrol, but there wasn't much Vincent could do or say. He just couldn't see himself begging off to his friend by explaining that he and Lilia were in need of an evening-after discussion. Don had been asking for a couple of weeks to come along and test his new fire spell, the first time in years that he had been excited about magic, and when he had asked again in front of Vincent's father the opportunity had been too good to pass. His father hated what Vincent did for a living, and one of his main gripes was that he didn't have a partner; taking Don along for the night had proved that he did not work alone. It would have been easier to simply tell him about Lilia, but that would have raised questions with much more complicated answers Therefore, they patrolled with Don ready to try his spell at the first occasion. Lilia seemed to pout for a while, before falling into a sullen silence. And for some strange reason that defied his understanding, Vincent felt a little guilty about the situation. Guilty yet at the same time ... relieved. What would he have told Lilia, if they had been able to talk? He had thought of her, of her feelings, of them, all day, and he was still nowhere close to comprehending what was going on. One thing was clear. Their Mating, which he had denied for so long as having meant anything, was clearly affecting him. It had to be the reason why he had never staked her. Why, also, he felt comfortable in her presence—and Heaven knew he shouldn't have. He had not forgotten she was a vampire, had not forgotten everything she was infamous for, nor the many fights they had had as adversaries before becoming allies. He had not forgotten she had killed Peter. No, he had no delusions about who or what she was. But he had no qualms either about patrolling with her. About being friends with her. About having slept with her. About wanting to do it again. And all of it ... It had to be the claim. **** Lilia howled when Vincent's teeth sank into her neck hard enough to break the skin, in surprise, pain, and pleasure. The patrol had been remarkably tedious, with Don accompanying them, and Lilia had begged off as they walked near her mausoleum, pretending that she had errands to run. Having the wizard around was hardly her idea of an interesting time with Vincent, and it had been clear that he wouldn't say a word unless they were alone. She had settled on her bed in front of the television with a glass of bourbon and waited. And hoped. He hadn't disappointed and had come to her. He had seemed jittery, as he had sat on the edge of the bed, far enough from her that they weren't touching. Then, after a few words reminding her that he didn't feel the same way she did and that he was only there because of the pull their Mating had on him, he had practically jumped on her. They had made out on the bed like two horny teenagers—although Lilia had never done anything remotely like this as a teenager. Quite surprisingly, no clothes had come off, but buttons had been undone and hands had reached inside pants and shirts, stroked and pinched and rubbed and... Then he had bitten her. Taken by surprise, Lilia could do nothing but let the pleasure wash over her. Horny teenager, indeed. He had caressed her breast and flicked her clit a few times, but the bite itself was what had set her off. And

she couldn't wait for him to do it again. He had a satisfied little grin on his face as he pulled away slightly, his fingers still stroking her clit and folds but now with a feather touch. "Love that face you make when you come,” he murmured before he touched his lips to hers. "Love when you say the word love,” she mumbled back. He stilled completely, and resisted her efforts to pull him closer to her. "I told you I don't...” he started, and cut himself off. “I mean, doing this doesn't change anything, I..." Leaning toward him, she pressed her mouth against his and lazily ran her tongue to the seal of his lips, pulling back just as he was opening to her. "I know,” she said. “Heard you the first time around. Not pretending anything changed." "So you ... you don't mind?" He looked anxious as he said that, as though it really mattered to him what she thought ... Gods, but she wanted him inside her. Now. "I'll take whatever you want to share with me. If it's only your body...” her eyes trailed down to his crotch; the fastenings of his jeans were undone and his cock was out, hard and needy. She licked her lips, and it gave a twitch. “Definitely not complaining." With that, she reached for his lovely dick that was so hard for her with one hand and pulled and tugged his pants down with the other until he finally took the hint and helped her undress the both of them. **** You are beautiful. The three simple words burned Vincent's lips as the final item of Lilia's clothing, black satin underwear that had left very little to his imagination, finally fell to the floor, discarded by his own hands, leaving her to lay nude and glorious inches from where he was kneeling next to her on the bed. Hands thrown back above her head, she smiled at him, one of these devious smiles of hers that made his blood boil and his cock demand to be touched, preferably by her. "Like what you see?” she asked, her tone teasing. Pretending to reflect on her question, he leaned back on his heels and detailed her from toes to head. He had never considered himself a man with a foot fetish, but he had a sudden urge to reach forward and caress the arches of her feet, so perfect as she relaxed there, so deadly when she fought. Long, smooth, flawless legs led his eyes up to the nest of dark curls he couldn't wait to explore again. Shapely hips slowly curved up to her deliciously full, delightfully supple breast. Her nipples were hard buds begging for attention that he couldn't wait to lavish on them. His eyes stopped a little longer at her neck and the silver line that graced it. On the opposite side, he knew without looking, was an aged bite mark, the one that had made her what she was today; somehow, he surprised himself wishing he had bitten over it and erased that reminder of her Sire. Shaking his head lightly at the thought, he finally looked at her face. Framed by dark hair that she so often kept tied back but that now barely brushed her shoulders, her face

was quite simply lovely. Not extraordinarily beautiful, but well defined features, a pretty, very kissable mouth, knowing eyes that he still couldn't decide were gray or green and that were now watching him with amusement... "So?” she asked, and could it have been a twinge of insecurity in her voice? “Do I pass your inspection?" Lying next to her, he let his gaze trail over her one more time, knowing his hands and mouth would soon follow and explore her again. You are beautiful. The words once more presented themselves to his mind, and he once again stifled them. They were too close to an admission of feelings he couldn't give her; it would have been cruel to play with her like that. Therefore, instead of speaking, he pressed his mouth to hers and let his lips give her an answer. **** When she had been human, Lilia had never envied another woman for her body. She had envied their clothes, enough to have her seamstresses overdo themselves before each party she had ever attended. She had also envied their jewelry, sometimes, and known exactly how to convince her father, in five minutes or less, to add to her collection. But she had been satisfied with her figure, and confident in the effect it had on men. As a vampire, there had never been a reason to wonder. She had been turned just as she had slipped from being a coltish girl to the first bloom of womanhood, and she would be forever young, forever beautiful, forever herself. But when Vincent, kneeling by her, detailed her body with such an intensity that she could have sworn she felt his eyes burning her, she was, for the first time, afraid. Afraid that he would notice the many scars that covered her. She had fought a lot, in seventeen decades. She had been hurt a lot. And there had been Nathanael's games with knives. Because she was a vampire, the wounds healed thoroughly and, in time, the scars disappeared completely, but the most recent ones were still there, still visible to someone who looked closely enough. Afraid, also, that the pallor of her skin would turn him off, and remind him that she hadn't seen the light of day in many, many years. Next to his healthy tan, she looked sickly and bland. Afraid, primarily, that he was taking so much time because there was something wrong with her, and he was just too polite to say it outright. Had she been human, her heart would have been hammering in her chest and threatening to break free. Then, finally, he answered her question and her fears, not with words that could so easily deceive or lie, but with a kiss in which she could taste his honesty. Yes, he liked what he saw. More than liked, if she was to believe the way his cock throbbed against her abdomen. She rolled their bodies so that she was above him, and pulled back to look at him as he had looked at her. Arms crossed behind his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, he arched an eyebrow at her.

"Like what you see?” he threw her question back at her. Did she? She had had many lovers, over the course of the past two centuries. Nathanael, of course, both his body and face fit to be sculpted in the finest marble, but countless others, too, vampires and humans alike as she had never seen anything wrong in playing with her food. Some of them had been taller, stronger, better built than the man her eyes now detailed. Some had even had nicer cocks, even if Vincent had nothing to be ashamed of in that matter. But none of them, not even Nathanael, not even when, as a fledgling, she had been so taken with him, had ever made her feel as Vincent did without ever trying. None of them had ever made her feel like a teenager with a crush whose heart beats too fast and cheeks burn too hot. "You're beautiful,” she answered simply. It was nothing more than the truth to her, but the words had him look at her with surprise, as though he didn't quite believe her. He should have, she thought, a little amused. She wasn't one to offer compliments, much less when she didn't mean them. Without waiting one more second, she started touching him, pressing open mouth kisses on the inside of his thigh, just below his navel, right over his heart, and finally at the crook of his neck, on that one spot that made him, just a little bit, hers. He was trembling against her by the time she reached his lips, and she could only smile at the power she had over him, could only hope that she would always have it.

Chapter 11 The first time Don noticed something amiss was a couple of days after the friendly spell had gone wrong. He dropped by Vincent's house one afternoon after closing the mystical library he owned to talk about Jeanie and how he had started looking at engagement rings even though she hadn't said a word about marriage since that awful night. When Vincent opened the door and invited him in, it took him a moment to pinpoint what it was that was different about his friend, and when he did, his eyes threatened to pop out. Vincent continued to talk, oblivious to Don's sudden cold sweat, rambling about what a good catch Jeanie was and how happy he was for them. And all the while, he was absently rubbing at his neck. At the two healed but still slightly red marks on his neck. At the glaringly obvious vampire bite mark. It occurred to Don at that moment that, when he had come to do the truth-speaking spell on Lilia, Vincent's hair had been damp as though he had just been out of the shower but he had been wearing a shirt with every button done up. Hiding something? A dozen questions burned his lips, but Don managed not to ask anything. If Vincent had wanted to share, he would have told him. Obviously, he had to have been bitten by Lilia during the spell. But why, if they had been such good friends as Vincent had claimed? Surprising, also, that Vincent hadn't staked her immediately. Don kept his thoughts to himself, and did an internal jig at the thought that Lilia was dust. The second clue was to discover that Lilia was, actually,not dust. That, Don questioned, often and loudly, but Vincent was unable to come up with a satisfying explanation. Each time he tried, he fumbled with the words, always ending by saying that he knew he could trust Lilia. Always saying those words with a touch to his neck.

That was the third clue. Vincent often touched his neck there, right on the scar, but it never seemed to be a conscious gesture. Don asked him, once, if the scar itched or hurt, and Vincent snatched his hand back as if burned, and stuttered that it didn't. He never asked how Don knew, which had to mean he still didn't want to talk about it. Then ... then there was Lilia. She had been lucky not to have been staked after the spell, and if she had known what was good for her the vampire should have disappeared after she had been set free. They should never have seen her again. Yet, they had. She hadn't gone away. On the contrary, she seemed to be around even more than before. And because she was around so often, Don noticed that, just like Vincent, she often touched her neck, where the collar of her shirts almost completely covered what looked like a bruise, or mark. All the clues added up to something that scared Don. He ignored it, or tried to, as long as he could, but when Vincent started patrolling regularly with Lilia, when he started defending her against Don's criticism, he couldn't ignore it anymore. He researched the matter at work—it was quite useful to have so many vampire books around—and his fears were confirmed. He insisted on tagging along for one of their hunts, to see them interact more closely, and Lilia's bad mood, clearly caused by his presence, only added to it all. Then it became a question of whom to talk to first, Vincent or Lilia. **** The flame of a candle flickered, and Lilia watched as shadows danced over Vincent's skin. He had fallen asleep after their last romp, and even though there was little more she wanted to do than snuggle against him and join his dreams, except maybe make love to him again, she did her best to remain awake. He hadn't said anything, but she strongly suspected that he would need to go home soon. He had left his father in his home to hunt with Don and her, he probably wouldn't want to stay the night and risk possibly embarrassing questions as to where he had been, supposing that he even wanted to stay. So, she watched him sleep, thought about what it was that they shared, and wondered how long she ought to let him rest before awakening him. As it had happened so often before, she caught herself caressing the twin scars on his neck that marked him as her Mate. He shifted in his sleep, moving a little closer to her and mumbling something unintelligible. He was so sensitive to her touch; she couldn't help but be in awe at how much her caresses affected him. Then again, his touch could set her aflame just as easily. The invitation was too good to resist, and she leaned into his neck, flicking her tongue against the two raised points of scarred skin. This time, if she judged by the way that his hand came to rest at the back of her neck, he awoke. "'S nice,” he mumbled sleepily. “Do it again." Smiling, she obliged, and this time trailed her lips against his skin. He hummed at the sensation, and Lilia could feel his cock reawakening, pressing, hard and needy, against her hip. It would have been all too easy to maneuver him onto his back and guide him inside her once more, but she managed to hold on to her earlier resolve. She wouldn't allow him to regret his time with her for any reason. "Do you have to go home?” she asked, pulling back a little.

He let out a small grumble of protest. “Tease. Are you trying to get rid of me?" A corner of her mouth twitched up. “I'd keep you right here until the world ended if I could,” she said, and she couldn't have been more truthful. “But since I can't, I'd rather not have you regret coming here and decide not to do it anymore when you realize you don't want to lie to daddy dearest about where you've been." A slight frown appeared on his brow as he rested his cheek against his closed fist. “How do you know about that?" She shrugged and mirrored his position. “Heard him earlier. When I came to get you. Window was open." Nodding absently, Vincent appeared to be lost in thought for a while, and Lilia wanted to do something, anything, to bring him back to her. He finally did before her resolve not to kick him could crumble. "How much did you hear?” he asked, sounding a little embarrassed. "Just that you called someone ‘dad’ and told him you had to go do your job." He grimaced apologetically. “Wish I could have introduced you but ... He wouldn't understand. You and me, I mean. He's never liked vamps, and he hates that I even come in contact with vampires with my job, so telling him that I am..." He hesitated, seemingly unsure how to continue, and she tried to help. Tried, also, to soften her words with a small smile. "Mated with a vamp? Fucking her in your spare time?" "Workingwith one,” he finished with a slight shake of his head, “that might not go too well." He had taken the easy way out, Lilia realized that, but she still could hear in her mind the way he had said ‘you and me'. And she couldn't get over the fact that she just wanted to hear him say these silly words again. There was something else she wanted to know, too. "I also heard him mention your mother." His eyes took a darker tint. “She's dead." She asked before she could stop herself. “Vampire?" She thought she knew the answer to that question; it would have explained why he had become a Special Enforcer. Therefore, she was surprised when he quietly said “no” and stood. She was about to ask how she had died, but she didn't need to. "She had a car accident. Died instantly." He paused, boxers forgotten in his hands for a second, then continued, his voice still as devoid of feeling. "The other car was speeding. Someone driving their friend to the hospital after a vampire attacked them. They died too."

He stopped then, and Lilia felt like she ought to have offered some kind of apology for bringing the subject up, but she didn't know what to say. "Want me to walk you home?” she asked while watching him dress and button his jeans. He threw a faint smile at her. “Walk me home? Afraid I'll run into some vamps and won't be able to take care of myself?" She forced out a laugh, but in truth, he was right. She didn't doubt that Nathanael's patience was running thin, especially with the loss of the Childe Lilia had staked and that he had certainly attributed to Jordan. How long until he came up with a plan to eliminate Jordan? How long, for that matter, until he came looking for Lilia? "Always,” she replied. “And hoping I'll talk you into a quickie before I have to let you go." He rolled his eyes at her, but she did notice with some relief that he was grinning. "I was ready for more,” he pointed out with a shake of his head. “You're the one who reminded me I had better get home before my father fills out a missing person report." Lilia shook her head, incredulous at how easy all of this was. It was hard to believe that the previous night he had closed the door without letting her in. How had they gone from that to him sharing about the death of his mother, and then following with this quiet banter? "Something wrong?” Vincent asked, his smile gone, and she realized that she had been staring at him. "Just can't believe this is happening,” she admitted. "'This'?” he repeated. “What's this?" "You. Me. Fucking. Talking like two civilized people after fucking. Laughing. You not trying to stake me. Not running away even now that you know..." She couldn't say it. Not like this. She hadn't meant to say it in the first place, and she didn't want to repeat it when she knew he didn't feel the same way. He seemed to understand what she meant, though, because he nodded slightly. "I know; it's strange for me too. And I..." She raised an eyebrow when he interrupted himself and dropped his eyes to the floor for a second. "And I'm not promising anything,” he finished, looking back up at her. “Maybe I'm going to wake up one morning and realize this was all a terrible mistake." Lilia froze as she heard him voice her biggest fear. He noticed her reaction and came back near the bed. He seemed to hesitate for a second, and then reached out to caress the rounded bite mark at the crook of her neck with barely-there fingers. She shivered. "Then again, maybe not,” he whispered.

He was about to pull back when she caught both his forearms and wrestled him to the bed. He was so surprised by the move that he didn't struggle or say a word as she pushed him onto his back, undid his pants, and shoved his boxers down enough to free his cock. A few strokes had him hard again in seconds. She threw a devious look up at him before taking his length into her mouth, and reveled in the way he half-breathed, half-moaned her name. One of these nights, she would keep him up, begging and wanting for hours with what she could do with her mouth and tongue, but now wasn't the right time. He needed to get home, so she needed to be quick. She could do quick. She used all the tricks she knew, teasing the head of his cock with her tongue and lips before working her way down and taking him whole down her throat while gentle fingers massaged his balls. But it was the light scraping of her careful human teeth on the sides of his length when she slid back up that made him gasp, and so she did it again, down and up, her tight hand pumping the flesh she uncovered as she was coming back up again. A third time was enough and his hips arched up against her as he erupted in her mouth. Slithering upward against his body, she smiled to herself at his dazed look and commented: "Tasty, almost as much as your blood." He blinked, once, twice, and she laughed before pulling back and fastening his jeans again. By the time she was done, he had recovered enough to sit up and pull her in for a feverish kiss. "I'll get you back for that later,” he promised as he let go of her mouth. “You wicked, wicked, evil woman." "Funny,” she snickered, “I didn't hear you complain when I had you down my throat." Another kiss, which left even Lilia breathless, and he stood, clearly regretting letting go of her. “Good night, Lilia." "Night Vincent. Sweet dreams." She waited until he had left the mausoleum and then threw on some clothes before going out after him. She didn't let him see her, but she felt better knowing he had reached his home without problems.

Chapter 12 His father had dozed off on the sofa in front of the television by the time Vincent returned home, and despite his attempt at opening and closing the door as quietly as possible, he woke him up. "You should have gone to sleep,” Vincent said immediately, slightly apologetic. "Sleep? No, it's not...” A quick look at his watch had Emery Jordan frowning in surprise. “OK, it is late. Later than I would have thought you'd be back. Trouble on the way? Did you get hurt?" Shrugging off his coat, Vincent hung it by the door and proceeded to unlace his boots as he answered. It

had seemed to take far less time when Lilia had done it for him earlier that night. It had been far more enjoyable, too. "No trouble, just a busy night." Busy was one way to describe it. Hot as hell, probably more accurate. He was getting used to spending time with Lilia, in or out of bed. He was getting used to the idea of falling asleep in her arms, too. And he had a vague feeling that that realization should have alarmed him to some degree. "If you're that busy,” his father returned to his earlier gripe, “it has to be dangerous. I can't believe that Don is that much of a help, he was never much of an athletic guy..." "And I told you he does magic for me,” Vincent sighed. “And he's good at it." When his girlfriend doesn't distract him,he mentally finished. "Well, I still don't like it. If you really have to do that job, why don't you find a partner again? A real one?” Arms crossed and brow furrowed, Emery was the image of parental disapproval. They had had this same conversation, or a variation of it, dozens of times since Vincent had announced upon turning eighteen that he intended to go to the academy and train to become a Special Enforcer. The most difficult talk had come after Peter had died; Vincent still had been in shock, and he would had caved to his father's concerns if not for the burning desire to get revenge on Lilia. How things had changed. This time, Vincent refused to listen. He had made his choice and he would stick to it, however annoying his father could get when he started rambling about his job again. He had trouble suppressing another exasperated sigh, and maybe because of that, maybe because the night had been long despite his catnap, he said something he hadn't meant to reveal. "I have a partner. A great one, too. She fights almost better than I do. So stop badgering me about it, all right?" The second he saw his father's eyes widen, Vincent knew he had made a mistake. A big, big mistake. "So when do I get to meet her?" "Dad..." "Why didn't you tell me about her earlier?" "It wasn't..." "She's really that good? Is she just your fighting partner or is there more to it? Is she pretty? What's her name? Oh, I get it, now. Busy night, heh? Had fun?" There were things Vincent had hoped very hard not to ever have to discuss with his father. His sex life was at the top of the list. "We are not talking about this,” he said forcefully, and strode to the mezzanine staircase.

"Come on now, Vincent..." "Goodnight, Dad. I trust you remember how to open the futon?" Mentally and physically exhausted, Vincent let himself fall on the bed face first, but he still heard the warning—or was it a threat?—that came from the first floor. "I won't leave until I've met her, Vince. So you'd better get used to the idea." His pillow muffled Vincent's answering groan. **** A creaking noise as the front door opens. Light footsteps on the staircase. The sound of clothes falling to the floor. Vincent doesn't open his eyes but he smiles when a cool body glides next to his into the bed. His own naked flesh recognizes his Mate all too easily, and he finds his place against her, where he can have access to her neck, and she to his. He finds his mark and teases it with the tip of his tongue, enjoying the way Lilia responds to him, practically squirming against him. One of his hands plays down her body and to the apex of her legs, already wet, already ready for him. "Vincent,” she moans, and he shushes her with a kiss. "Shh ... my turn to make you feel good, ‘K?" With that, he pushes her onto her back and starts exploring the curves of her body with his mouth, still teasing her folds and clit with light fingers. Her nipples harden at the first touch of his tongue; and he continues to lavish them with attention, going from one to the other, alternating kisses as soft as her skin, and light bites that draw breathy moans out of her. He couldn't explain this sudden desire to be the one taking care of her needs to the exclusion of his own, except for the realization he had earlier that she seemed more attentive to his pleasure than to her own. Attentive to more than that, too, as she reminded him he had other obligations and needed to return home. He feels a little guilty about all of that, at enjoying her attentions when he knows her feelings run deeper than his own do. So, he tries to give back. When she is quaking with need under his touch, he finally allows her to guide him between her legs and inside her. Every time they are joined, he marvels for a second at how perfectly whole he feels; it's not something he has ever felt before, not with any other woman, and if he allowed himself to think about it for any longer than a second, he would probably become scared. Slowly at first, and gradually faster, he thrusts into her, angling his hips to find that perfect spot that will have Lilia close her eyes tight and bite her bottom lip. Her legs have come up to encircle him, her hands are at his shoulders, nails digging in his skin as perfect pinpricks of pleasure. She moves with him, her rhythm flawlessly attuned to his, and he doesn't care that she has forgotten his request to let him do it all for her, not when she's obviously so close and trying to take him along in her orgasm. They come together; they always do. As he rests against her body and feels her arms closing tightly around him, Vincent knows she is going to say it again, and he holds his breath, waiting for the whisper that soon rises in the darkness. "Love you."

He wishes he could say the words back, and make her feel as good, as warm as he now feels. But he can't. He can offer something else though. He rolls their bodies so that she is above him and tilts his head to the side, offering Lilia his neck. "Go ahead,” he murmurs, already shivering in anticipation. “Bite me." **** Vincent awakened with a gasp and sat up in his bed, eyes opened wide and searching before he realized he was alone. Automatically, his hand rose to his neck, and as he gingerly touched his scars with the tip of his fingers, he was almost surprised to find that they weren't bleeding. The biggest surprise however was to realize that he was disappointed. Disappointed that he had only dreamed of Lilia biting him again, and that it hadn't really happened. **** "Come on, Jordan. You've been brooding all night. What's wrong?" The grumble that followed was barely audible. “My father wants to meet you." That was certainly the last thing Lilia had expected to hear and she turned to look at him. “He does? And how is that a problem?" Vincent stopped walking and she did too, her eyes darting around in search of prey while he lit a cigarette and took a heavy drag on it. "It's a problem where your lack of pulse is concerned,” he explained as he started walking again. “My father hates vampires. I've heard him say more than once that all vamps should be dusted, whether they kill or not." Lilia had long believed that all Special Enforcers thought the same way, but she had realized, during the past weeks, as she worked by his side, that Vincent didn't. He liked his job, and truly believed that vampires who killed ought to be staked, but he didn't go out of his way to dust the vampires who played the game by the humans’ rules. "From hearing him,” she commented, “it sounded like he wasn't thrilled that you're doing the dusting job." He let out a dry laugh. “He isn't. He wants all vampires gone with a passion, but he doesn't want me to have anything to do with it. He's afraid I'll be bitten and ... well, I guess he was right at least for that. Iwas bitten." She watched from the corner of her eye as his fingers came to slide under his collar, and wondered if he realized what he was doing. The words came out of her mouth before she could realize they probably weren't a good idea. "Any chance you might be willing to be bitten again?" Vincent practically leapt away from her, and eyed her warily. “What?" "Don't tell me you never dream of sinking your teeth in my neck again,” she teased, hoping to make him forget her little slip of the tongue; she was surprised by the blush that crept up his cheeks.

"Of course not! I ... I mean..." The deep drag he took on his cigarette told more than his denial. "Yeah, thought so,” she grinned. “I have the same dreams. Just, you know, the urge might be just a tad stronger seeing that blood is what I eat and yours is even..." He shook his head and pointed a warning finger at her. “Stop. Right there. I really, really don't want to know." "Anyone ever told you you're no fun?” she pouted. "Says the woman who likes to dust vampires as a hobby." She let go of the teasing, pouting act and shrugged. “It's not a hobby, more of a self-preservation spirit. If I keep you alive, I keep my sanity." "You're trying to tell me you don't enjoy a good brawl?” he snickered. “Come on, Lilia. You're fooling no one here. I've seen the look on your face when you fight." "Well, yeah,” she rolled her eyes at him and sat down on a grave marker. “Vampire, violence, kind of go together. What did you expect?" He frowned as he looked at her, and she realized it was because she was sitting on a grave. Repressing a sigh, she slid off. "Nothing,” he said as she did. “Nothing at all. I have no expectations whatsoever." Something flared in his scent when he said the word ‘expectations', and Lilia smiled to herself as she came closer to him, close enough to breathe in the lust coming off him. "Except for the one that we'll make it to my bed before it's time for you to get home?" There was that little blush again. “Well ... I'd be lying if I said the idea didn't cross my mind." She chuckled. "Cross your mind? Gods, do you have any idea what your scent is like at this instant?" "No.” He made a face. “And frankly that's another thing I'd rather not talk about." He took a nervous step back and tossed his cigarette before running a hand through his hair. It was amusing, to watch him fidget. She wondered how long it would take him to learn to appreciate that she could tell when he was horny. "So, when am I meeting him?” she asked, getting back to their earlier topic and losing Vincent in the process. "Huh? Meeting who?"

"Your father. You said he wanted to meet me." "Yes, and I also mentioned he's one of these people who want all vampires dead, did you hear me?" The slight twinge of irritation in his voice gave her pause, and she was almost thankful for the lone vampire who suddenly stumbled in their path. He might have escaped the encounter untouched, as long as he hadn't attacked Vincent first; but the blood splattered on the front of his shirt and staining his mouth, and Lilia's nod confirming that it was human blood, had Vincent springing into action and turning him to dust before the poor thing even knew what had struck him. Some vampires just deserved staking. "He doesn't have to know,” she said as Vincent penciled in the kill, time and location in the booklet that never left him. “If you don't tell him I'm a vamp, I won't either." "And you think you'll fool him?” he questioned, a little incredulous. "I've fooled a lot of people, Vincent. I'm pretty good at it." Something dark and not happy crossed Vincent's face, and Lilia internally winced at her faux pas. "He's not a potential meal for you to play with. He's my father." "I didn't say I would play with him,” she defended herself. “I can pull it off without a single lie." He snorted. “I'd like to see you try." "Does that mean,” she smiled, stepping closer to him once more, “you're going to introduce me to him?" "Lilia...” The way he said her name sounded like a plea, and she wasn't sure whether he was pleading for her to stop or continue. One step closer again, and this time their bodies were brushing against each other and he didn't retreat. “So? When do I meet him?" "I ... I'll think about it." "Is that it?” she murmured, knowing he would feel the words on his lips. To his credit, he didn't react. His scent however was another thing altogether. "Yes. You're not getting anything else out of me right now." "You're sure about that?” she purred, sliding her body closer to him. Inhaling deeply, she nuzzled his neck before flicking her tongue at his skin; his body shivered, so lightly she might not have felt it if she hadn't been so close to him. "Not playing fair, Lilia,” he breathed into her hair. "Vampire, remember?” she replied, now nibbling gently up his throat. “Don't care about fair." Vincent only started to object when her hands moved from his back to his front and the growing bulge there. “Someone could see us."

His protest however was as weak and half-hearted as the way he batted at her hands. Ignoring both, Lilia continued to press her body against his, leading him backwards until his back was against a tree. The fleeting thought of Nathanael learning about how she was fucking Jordan out in the open instead of killing him had crossed her mind, but she wanted him too much at that moment to manage to care. "There's no one here,” she murmured against his jaw and flicked her tongue against his skin. His answer was incoherent, but he was still vaguely fending off her hands as she tried to unfasten his pants. Changing her tactics, she linked her fingers with his and slowly brought both his arms over his head while distracting him with a series of kisses down his neck and increasingly closer to her mark still hidden under his clothes. "Don't move,” she demanded, shifting her hold so that one of her hands pressed both his wrists to the tree, letting the other free to roam down again. Even if she had been using all of her strength, which she wasn't, it wouldn't have been too hard for him to push her back. Although he gave another token of protest by uttering her name, he didn't try to move and remained exactly where he was as her free hand quickly unbuttoned his shirt before sliding beneath the t-shirt. The muscles of his stomach trembled under her touch and she reveled in his reaction. He was so beautifully sensitive. "Ever been tied up, Vincent?” she whispered, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “I have a feeling you'd enjoy it. Very. Much." She punctuated her last words with flicks of her thumbs against his flat nipples, and felt one then the other harden against her finger, just like another, more insistent part of him was, trapped against her thigh. She rocked against him, delighting in the strangled gasps she pulled from him and pondering her next move. Dropping to her knees and worshipping that succulent cock of his with her mouth would have been the most practical thing to do, but she wanted more for herself. She had been told, more than once, that she was greedy; there was nothing wrong with that as far as she was concerned. While she was thinking, her hand had wandered down of its own accord and finally opened his jeans and pulled his cock out of his boxers. It was hot and heavy in her hand, as hot, and heavy as Vincent's breathing in the crook of her neck. "Don't move,” she reminded him as both her hands let go of him; he was shaking, but he remained just as he was, hands pinned to the tree high above his head, cock proudly jutting out of his pants, a delectable image of debauchery. His previous plea that someone could see them was all but forgotten, and Lilia couldn't have cared less. She wanted him, and she wanted him now. No time to go to her mausoleum. Taking off her pants and panties was already taking too long. **** The sight wasn't particularly surprising in itself. Alexei had witnessed Lilia fucking her prey on more than one occasion over the years, and he had always enjoyed watching her, even joined in, a few times. The girl was a beauty, he could admit to that, and understood that was in part why their Sire had kept her so close for so long. No, the incongruous part wasn't that she was fucking a human in the middle of a graveyard where anyone could see; it was who her partner was. At first Alexei couldn't see, for the man was trapped between the tree and her as she practically climbed onto him and started riding him. But when it became too hard to remain standing and they collapsed to the grass, he had a clear view of the human thrusting into Lilia's sweet cunt as though he were a demon himself. The same human she was supposed to be

hunting, the same human she had promised their Sire she would kill. However when they were done, both of them panting loudly as they returned from bliss, the bite Alexei expected didn't come. She didn't kill the damn Enforcer. Instead, she helped him stand, they got their clothes more or less back into place, and they rushed off as if they couldn't wait to start round two. Nathanael wouldn't be pleased.

Chapter 13 "So, when can I expect to have grandchildren?" Vincent, who had been taking a sip of wine, barely avoided spraying the table and started coughing when the alcohol went down the wrong pipe. His father looked at him questioningly, while Lilia seemed mildly amused. "Dad,” he managed to utter, his voice rasping, “we arenot talking about that now." "Why not? I'm not getting any younger, so it's a legitimate concern for me." "Dad,” Vincent repeated warningly, but stopped there when Lilia reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. "It's OK,” she said with a sad little smile, before turning her eyes to Vincent's father. “The reason we're not talking about it,” she said, with the barest tremor in her voice, “is that, unfortunately, I cannot bear children." Vincent blinked and his jaw fell open as his father immediately apologized to Lilia for bringing up what had to be a painful subject. She was incredible. Ever since they had arrived to the restaurant, she had played her role to perfection. She hadn't said one word that wasn't true, but the simple way she answered questions or chatted with Vincent's father said it all ... incredible. Too bad vampires weren't eligible to be awarded Oscars. "Don't worry about it,” she insisted as Emery apologized again. “I have accepted a long time ago that I wouldn't be a mother, at least not in that way. It doesn't mean there aren't other options." She flashed Vincent an innocent grin, and he raised his glass to her before taking a sip. He had never realized it until that instant, but seventeen decades had not only honed her fighting skills, they had also sharpened her mind. Or maybe she had been as clever as a human? He would certainly never know, but the question was intriguing, and he made a mental note to check again whatever books he had that spoke of her. **** "I won." Bemused, Vincent shot Lilia a glance. They had just walked past the graveyard's iron gates, on their way back to the mausoleum, and she had been silent ever since Emery had dropped them off a few streets away, when she had said it was close enough to her home and she wanted some fresh air before turning in. Her satisfied, almost gloating tone, after her silence, was surprising to say the least.

"You won?” he repeated. “You won what?" She let out a clear laugh that seemed to echo amongst the still stones around them. "You thought that I couldn't meet your father and make him assume I was human without lying. I did not say one single word that was untrue tonight. So, I won." Unable to repress a lopsided smile, Vincent acquiesced. “I suppose you did, yes. Well done." That had actually been the reason forhis silence so far; she had surprised him beyond words during the dinner, and he had been trying to pinpoint why exactly. He had thought at first that it was the dress that threw him off; he was more used to seeing her dressed in dark colors and leather than in light summer clothes, a shawl covering her neck and shoulders. But that wasn't it. The look was different, but behind it, it was still her, still Lilia, there was no doubt about that. "Well done? You're not getting away with just that, Jordan. I want a prize." She sounded as though she was taking this much too seriously to his liking, and he tried to put an end to it right away. She didn't even let him finish however. "It wasn't a bet or anything—" "Who cares? I want a prize for winning." He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Lilia..." "And I know exactly what I want." Sometimes, he could hardly believe how stubborn she was. “I'm not...” he started, determined to put an end to the charade, but what she said next threw him off. "You." "Me?” He frowned, unsure of what she meant. "You,” she simply repeated, and the grin on her face was positively evil. "Me in what way?" From evil, the grin turned almost hungry. “In any way I want. My prize, my choice." "Any...” His cock gave a light twitch, clearly indicating that it wasn't opposed to the idea, but the loud warning bell in his head said something completely different. “No." "Come on, Vincent. Don't you trust me?" If she had asked only an hour earlier, he would have answered without a hesitation and let her do just about anything she pleased. But after hearing her insist so much, after seeing that gleam in her eyes, he wasn't so sure anymore. “That's not the point."

She stopped walking and he had taken a few more steps before noticing. He turned back toward her. Arms crossed over her chest, she clearly looked upset. "It's exactly the point,” she said coolly. “What are you afraid of? That I'd kill you? It'd be as good as suicide, just more painful. I'm not that stupid." She wasn't stupid at all, he wanted to shoot back, but something altogether passed over his lips. “Unless you kill me to turn me." For long seconds that trickled by as slowly as hours, she looked at him, her expression unreadable. When she started walking again, it was without a word. Vincent followed immediately. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it." Her voice was diffident when she answered. “I might have." "See? My point exactly." "And I didn't do it,” she continued on the same tone. "I never gave you the chance..." A snort interrupted him. “You've slept in my bed, Vincent. Of course, you gave me the chance. I could have turned you a dozen times already if not more. And the fact is, I didn't." They had reached the mausoleum and she stopped walking again, turning deceptively calm eyes on him. He tried to keep his emotions under control too, but wasn't as successful. "You haven't done it so far, that doesn't prove you won't! And why wouldn't you want to?" A thin smile stretched her lips. “Thinking about it doesn't prove I want to either. As for why I don't ... It doesn't matter, not when it's not what I had in mind for my prize." "You're asking for too much,” he said, shaking his head. "Yeah, I suppose I am,” she murmured as she pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. “Good night, Jordan." Vincent had been waiting for her to clear the entrance to step in, and her words puzzled him. "Good night?" "Emery might get worried if you don't hurry home. Give him my regards.” With that, she closed the door on him. He stared at it for a long while before turning on his heels and walking away, his fingers flying to lightly scratch at the bite mark on his neck. It was the first time she had sent him away without so much as a goodbye fuck since they had started sleeping together, and he felt oddly robbed. At the same time however, he couldn't regret his reluctance at giving her complete power over him the way she had asked. However human she had appeared that night at the restaurant, he had not forgotten she was a vampire

and neither had she, as she had confessed she had thought of turning him. He didn't think he had it in him to trust her that far, and a part of him was still wondering why, because he had never hesitated about putting his life into her hands when they fought. He returned home, hands thrust deep in his pockets and head low, wondering if she was truly angry with him, and, if she were, how long she would remain upset. Sleeping with her was addictive, and already his body was protesting the lack of soft limbs and flesh around, above, and under him. The night promised to be long. "Back so soon?” his father asked, clearly taken aback, when he entered his home. “I thought you would ... spend some quality time with your lovely friend." "Well, you said you'd leave tomorrow, so I thought I'd spend some time with you before you left." It was probably one of the worst lies Vincent had ever told, and he couldn't manage to care. His father didn't call him on it however, and the only indication he had noticed was a twitch of his eyebrow. "Maybe we could have a night cap,” he suggested, and that was the best idea Vincent had heard all night. Alcohol didn't help, however; if anything, it made Vincent's dreams that night even more vibrant than they usually were. It was probably to be expected after the talk he had had with Lilia, but he dreamt, again, of her biting him. The dream didn't stop there as it usually did however, and he saw her, practically felt her, drain him, then tasted her blood on his tongue and felt it slide down his throat, and watched himself rise again as a vampire. Only then did he wake, covered in a cold sweat and for the first time after one of these dreams very much determined not to let Lilia anywhere near his throat again. But even as he made that silent vow, he already realized how silly it was. As she had pointed out earlier, she had had several opportunities to bite him and turn him, if that was what she had wanted to do; and if she hadn't yet, why would she change her mind now? When he went back to sleep, the dream turned into a familiar memory, and he relived their Mating night in all its intensity and glory, to the point that he woke with his hand inside his shorts and unable to stop touching himself until he had reached a silent climax. Mind blank and body still trembling, he lay on his back and watched the light and shadows slowly creeping across the ceiling. It was morning, already. In a few hours, he would see Lilia again. He would want her again. And he had the growing feeling that he would be ready to put himself, and his life, into her hands. Not only because, even after so little time, he couldn't imagine anymore his nights without her, but also because, as she had said, it was a matter of trust. The truth of it was, whether he liked it or not, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he did trust her. **** Her internal clock informed her that it was barely the middle of the afternoon when Lilia awakened, pulled out of sleep by the warning chime that rang when someone stepped on her doorstep. Naked and barefoot, she tiptoed to the entryway that led to the main room, smiling when she caught the scent of the intruder before she even saw Vincent, but she immediately wiped off the grin. He couldn't see her from the other side of the charm, and she watched as he approached, looking incredibly nervous as he paused

for a second, ran a hand through his hair and stepped forward again. His look of surprise when he stepped through the illusion of stone to come face to face with her was priceless. "God! Lilia! You're trying to give me a heart attack?" "You're the one sneaking into my home in the middle of the day. What do you want, Jordan?" Passing by her, he walked into the bedroom and a flash of irritation ran through Lilia at how casually he stepped into her lair, giving the impression that it was his own. "Didn't you say you'd call me Vincent?" The attempt at distraction was pitiful, and she told him so in very clear words. He looked at her again, and his eyes wandered a little over her body before settling with determination on her face. "You asked whether I trust you,” he said, and she could have sworn his voice trembled just a little. “I'm here to show you I do." "Show me?” she repeated as she came back toward the bed. “Show me how?" She wasn't sure what was most prominent in his scent now, the lust or the nervousness. If he did trust her, it was against his own better judgment. "Any way you want,” he answered, his voice cracking slightly. “That's what you wanted, isn't it?" She almost had a mind to send him away. He had answered her question about whether he really trusted her the previous night when he had refused to play. But the opportunity was just too good to pass, and since she was awake now she might as well take advantage of the situation. With as few words as possible—the stern act part of the game—she had him undress and lie down on the bed on his back. His cock was half hard, but he was still anxious; the contrast was interesting. His edginess came close to fear when she tore a spare sheet into long shreds and tied one over his eyes as a blindfold before using the others to secure his wrists to the headboard and his ankles to the foot of the bed. His body was tense, and for a moment, she simply watched him as he waited for whatever he imagined she would do to him. She had no idea what it was, but judging by how he gasped in relief when she started trailing her fingertips over his skin, touching wasn't it, and she grinned at the satisfaction of having surprised him so thoroughly. She knew he had been surprised already the previous night at how well the dinner had gone, and she couldn't help but wonder how long it would take him to learn to know her well enough that he didn't find every little thing she did so strange. Using only the fingertips of her right hand, she took her time to explore inch after inch of him, learning the map of his body, and what spot made him sigh, tense or wiggle into her touch. She had wanted to do so for a little while already, but hadn't dared to so far, unwilling to watch him look at her as though she had lost her mind. The blindfold helped nicely for that. By the time she had rediscovered him, from the tips of his toes to the dark strands of hair he kept too short in her opinion, his heartbeat was a bit faster than normal and he strained toward her touch, trying to

find more contact. A quiet word had been enough to request his silence, although she could tell, by the way he was nibbling on the inside of his cheeks, that he wanted to talk. Her mouth and tongue followed the path her fingers had traced, and soon the words started escaping his lips, pleas for more and repeated murmurs of her name. She didn't chastise him for speaking, but continued to take her time, enjoying with a silent glee how thoroughly she was driving him mad with want. She thought he would come when she took hold of his cock; he arched into her hand, shuddering violently until she calmed him down with whispers that he didn't want the fun to end so fast. A few more seconds and a number of deep breaths later, he nodded and his body relaxed, ever so slightly. He bit down on his bottom lip and drew blood when she straddled him and took him inside her body, as she had wanted to do ever since she had first touched him. The scent of the blood, and its sight, should have spurred her on, but Lilia controlled herself and her movements, and began riding him at a slow, torturous pace that had Vincent begging in seconds. He was beautiful like this, she told herself as she eventually gave in to her instincts and his demands. His body was almost shining like bronze in the candlelight, his muscles rippling as he struggled against his bonds and tried to intensify her movements. Out of nowhere, their conversation from the previous night came back to her, his obvious fear that she might try to turn him, and how he had mastered this fear to come to her this day. She could have turned him, right at that moment, when he was so taken with pleasure that he wouldn't realize what she was doing until it was too late, and would never even have the chance to hate her for it. She could have turned him, but all she did was ride him, harder and harder, until they soared together toward an overwhelming bliss. She didn't turn him that day; more than that, she promised herself she never would, not unless he asked her. Because, quite simply, he trusted her, and she couldn't bear to lose that.

Chapter 14 "Do vampires celebrate special occasions?" The question, asked as Lilia was pummeling a vamp with a particularly bad fashion sense, baffled her enough that she—and her adversary—turned to look at Vincent where he sat on a low wall a few yards away. He had a slightly bored look, and Lilia realized she might have been playing with her prey for a tad too long. That was probably what had prompted the odd question. "You're asking me?” the fashion victim inquired, before falling victim to Lilia's stake. "Jumping into a conversation without being invited is rude,” she informed the pile of ashes before walking back toward Vincent. "So, do they?” he insisted. “Or more to the point, do you?" He slid off his perch as she neared him and they started walking together again, still hunting, still giving the impression that they were just enjoying the night. "I suppose it depends on what you call a ‘special occasion',” she finally answered after giving his question some thought. “I doubt my definition would match yours."

He let out a small sound that might have been a snort, or maybe a short chuckle. "And I'm sure I'd rather not hear what your definition is,” he assured her. “How about Christmas?" She answered with a pointed roll of her eyes and he grinned. "Right. What about birthdays, then? Or do you call them deathdays? I've read accounts that mentioned that some Sires remake their Childer on the same date every year to..." "You can't ‘remake’ a vamp,” she cut in, caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. “And it's nothing more than a myth. I've never heard of such a thing actually being done. Being totally drained is far from pleasant; no sane vamp would agree to endure that once a year." Without trying to be too obvious, she was angling their path amongst the many small alleys they were walking through so that they would soon be no more than a couple of streets away from the graveyard where her mausoleum was. His talk of vampires would clue in any potential attacker that they might not be the best of prey to choose, so they might as well continue the night more ... productively. "Or maybe Nathanael just wasn't the type..." A cold shiver ran down her spine as he said her Sire's name, and she interrupted him again. "Don't say his name, Jordan. Don't talk about him." He shrugged. “Why not?" Because one of these nights, he's going to come and ask questions,she wanted to reply.He's going to ask why I haven't killed you, and when he understands why, he's going to kill us both. "Just don't,” was all she said, and for a while she thought he had let the subject drop. However as they passed through the graveyard gates, he unexpectedly said, “You still didn't tell me if you celebrate your vampire turning, whatever you want to call it, day." He was insisting too much not to have something in mind, and for a few seconds she observed him sideways, trying to guess what it was and failing. She was usually pretty good at reading him; his face and body so expressive she had always been able to guess his moods and sometimes even what he thought, but this time it wasn't working. "Used to,” she finally answered, keeping a close eye on him to see if he would give her any usable clue when he would react. “The first few years, I'd treat myself to a blood bath. Literally." There it was, the tightening of his jaw, the small crinkling at the corner of his eyes, the two signs she had come to associate with him not appreciating much a reminder of what she was and what she had done over the years. Well, he had asked. She was just answering, and if he didn't like it, he would need to learn not to ask stupid questions. "Only the first few years, you said?” he pressed on after a few seconds. She shrugged. “It got boring after a while, and I stoppedcelebrating , as you would say. Didn't stop the

bloodbaths though,” she added after a short pause. She was baiting him now, curious to see how he would react beyond the signs she had already noticed, and was disappointed when he showed nothing. Rather, he came to a halt, and stopped her with a light touch to her arm. She looked at him curiously as he fiddled with his cigarettes, finally lighting one and sighing with pleasure as the nicotine hit his system. "I thought ... maybe you might like to start a new kind of celebration,” he mumbled around the cigarette as he pocketed the lighter and pulled a slim box out of his pocket. “Since you don't do bloodbaths so much anymore ... Happy birthday. Deathday. Whichever." She was too shocked to do anything beyond stare at him, and he started fidgeting under her gaze. "I didn't get the date wrong, did I?” he asked, sounding suddenly uncomfortable. “June seventh?" Still trying to process what was going on and unable to answer verbally, she nodded. Finding out when she had died had probably not been hard, after all, he knew her full human name, but she had never expected he would bother to look it up. And she had expected even less that he would present her with a gift. She hadn't even known what the date was until he mentioned it. She didn't have much use for human ways to mark the passage of time. Vincent's hand was still extended in front of him, the box in his palm, but she didn't reach for it. Didn't dare to, not for any reason she could have explained. She couldn't remember the last time she had ever been offered a gift that didn't have a pulse and wide, terrified eyes. "If you don't want it..." He seemed a little at a loss and started to take back his hand. She finally reached toward him, touching his wrist to stop him. "I do,” she said, her voice strained. “I just didn't expect..." He was smiling when she took the box with an awkward ‘Thanks', and looked at her expectantly as she opened it, uncovering a pair of earrings. They looked vaguely familiar, for some reason, but Lilia couldn't remember wearing earrings since she had been turned. "There was a drawing of you, in one of my books,” Vincent said when she hadn't spoken after a few seconds. “You as a human, I mean. And you had on some earrings, and then I saw these in a store and they sort of looked like your old ones so I thought you might like them." As the connection was made in her mind, Lilia remembered and for a second she had a pulse again, was turning sixteen, opening the satin-covered jewelry box her mother had presented her with, and laughing with delight at the sight in front of her. The gold and emerald dangling earrings had belonged to her grandmother, and until that day, her mother had always refused to let her borrow them. She had been wearing them the night she had met Nathanael; then again, the night she had died. They had been gone when she had awoken a vampire, and she had never given them a second thought. They were one of many things to which she would never give a second thought to after being turned. "Thanks,” she repeated. “They're nice."

It wasn't to thank him that she closed the distance between them and kissed him, barely pressing her lips to his. Rather, it was to silence the little voice in her mind that was suddenly and without rhyme or reason wondering if he would have loved her if she had been human. Was he trying to make her look like the portrait of her he had seen? Make her look like her human self? "Here, let me help you." She remained completely still as he took each earring in turn and carefully threaded the hook through her ears where the holes had never closed. It meant nothing, she told herself. They had been sleeping together for a while, and he was being nice, like men sometimes did without thinking of consequences. It didn't mean he felt anything for her; he just appreciated the time they spent in her bed. "You look exactly like that drawing of you,” he said when he was done and had taken a step back to see her better. “I'll show it to you if you want." The urge to put an end to his delusion was suddenly stronger than anything. "They were emeralds, not sapphires,” she replied, her voice colder than she meant it to be. “And they were gold. Not silver." He seemed a little taken aback by her correction, and his smile wavered a little. “The drawing was in black and white, so I couldn't tell,” he explained, almost apologetic. “If you don't like them, I can take them back. Get something else. Or you could choose." She wanted to give the stupid jewelry back to him, wanted to tell him he couldn't transform her into the human she had once been, wanted him to acknowledge, simply, who and what she was, but the words refused to come out. She had realized, suddenly, that this was only his latest attempt at being nice to her. He had dropped by her mausoleum, a couple of days earlier, in the middle of the afternoon. She had thought he wanted another session in bed and would have happily abandoned the television documentary she had been watching—it was so dreadful that she had been correcting facts aloud as she watched. Instead he had merely taken off his shoes and had come to sit next to her on the bed, not even touching her, merely making comments on the show, asking questions when she rolled her eyes at yet another mistake, and puzzling her beyond words. Then there had also been that barely veiled interrogation about what kind of flowers she liked best, and the bouquet she had found on the altar when the alarm chimes had woken her up one early afternoon. All of it had started after the dinner with his father. After she had so convincingly played the role of being a human. She had caused this; she had made him believe that she could be something she wasn't and now he was playing the game of pretend too. She would have to set him straight. And maybe, while she was doing that, she would manage to convince herself that loving him was a lost cause and she had to let go of the feeling. Because it was clear, now, that he could love a human, but not a vampire. **** Vincent had been so sure Lilia would love the earrings that he was more than disappointed when she didn't appear otherwise touched by his gift. The truth was he hadn't found by accident jewelry that resembled what Lilia had once worn. Instead, he had had the earrings made especially for her from the

drawing in her biography. The fact that he had gotten the specifics wrong, as she had so charmingly pointed out, left a bitter taste in his mouth. They had finished the hunt in awkward silence after he had offered them to her. Then, as usual, they had gone to her home. They had fucked. Because this time, that was what it had been on her part, he had realized as much; fucking, and nothing more. She was asleep, now, turned away from him, and he had been watching the smooth expanse of her back for long, interminable minutes, wondering what he had done to upset her so. Maybe it was because he had reminded her of the date; maybe she would rather have spent the day without remembering. Or maybe the earrings had brought back memories that would have been better left untouched. Had he hurt her without meaning to? All he had wanted was to be nice to her, show her he cared. Show her he was starting to do more than care, too. The thought struck him out of nowhere, and left Vincent stunned. More than care? Where hadthat come from? He didn't... God ... did he? That would explain why he had been feeling like a teenager again every time he was around Lilia, why he had been trying to make her smile, why— Refusing to continue that line of thought, he scrambled off the bed and hastily picked up his clothes. Lilia turned to him as he was getting dressed; her eyes were fully open, no trace of sleep hiding in them. She observed him without saying a word, and he had the strange feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking. "I've got to go home,” he mumbled, trying to fill the unnerving silence even as he struggled with his boots laces. "Why?” she asked coolly. “It's not like anyone is waiting for you, is there?" It was the first time she had ever questioned his departure, and it made him even more uncomfortable. He tried to hide it, but he didn't doubt she could hear it in his voice. "I get late calls, sometimes. Reports of nests to check out, that kind of stuff. I've got to be there." She didn't insist, and didn't say a word as he left, his shirt still undone but needing too badly to get out of her sight to care. He didn't walk home. He ran. It wasn't only from her that he was running. It was, also, mostly, from himself. From his feelings, and treacherous thoughts. It was bad enough that he was Mated to her, his life threatened by her death and his body addicted to hers. He had never asked for it, never wanted it, and he was doing his best to live in spite of it.

The feelings she had admitted to have for him had been a surprise, and they had complicated things and made him feel guiltier about wanting nothing more than sex from her, but they had beenher feelings. There was nothing he could do about them, and little he could say. To share them was unconceivable. His job was to stake vampires, not fall in love with them. It definitely was not to fall in love with a vampire he had sworn to kill.

Chapter 15 It wasn't often that Don closed his bookshop and brought a couple of beers over to Vincent's house. It usually meant that they had research to do about a new vamp in town or an artifact that had surfaced in the area. Or that he wanted advice about his love life. Why his friend thought that Vincent could help when he had never kept a girlfriend for more than two months—with the notable exception of Emma, but then she had been his work partner too—Vincent had no idea. They hadn't planned any research, so Vincent was taken aback when the expected ‘I've got a problem with Jeanie’ didn't come. That wasn't the most surprising though; Don's chosen topic was. "So, were you going to ever tell me about it, or were you waiting to see how long it would take me to figure it out?" Sprawled out on the sofa, bare feet on the coffee table and his abandoned weekly vampire kills worksheet next to him, Vincent stared at Don over his beer; he thought he knew what Don was referring to, but he hoped, truly hoped, that he was wrong. "Tell you about what?" Don leaned back into the armchair, and gave a slight shake of head before answering. "You and Lilia. Mated. You think I'm blind? I've known you for almost all my life, Vince. How could I not notice something was up?" Vincent hid his shock by taking a long swallow of his beer, finding it suddenly tasteless. What had he done to give himself away? He had thought he had been careful ... but it didn't really matter anymore, did it? The cat was out of the bag; he might as well try to make Don understand. "At first I was pretty much in denial that it had happened at all,” he tried to explain. “And then ... I guess I wouldn't have known what to say." Don made a face. “You could start by telling me I didn't cause this with my botched friendliness spell. Lie to me if you have to." Amused despite himself, Vincent smiled at Don's tone, both hopeful and fearful all at once. "Sorry,” was all he said; Don groaned and covered his face with his free hand.

"I knew it,” he muttered, taking a swig of his beer. “It all added up and pointed at the spell but I was just hoping ... Gosh, Vince, I'm sorry. I screwed up even more than I originally thought." The words passed Vincent's lips before he was even aware he was pronouncing them; and when he heard what he was saying, he realized it was the truth. "I'm not sorry it happened." Don considered him thoughtfully for a moment before asking: “She put you under a thrall, right? Vincent Jordan didnot just tell me he doesn't mind being Mated to a vampire. Not just any vampire, butLilia ." Repressing the chuckle was doable, but the grin pierced through despite Vincent's valiant efforts. "Yes, Vincent Jordan just said that. And no, she didn't thrall me." "How would you even know?” Don asked suspiciously. “If you are under thrall, you can't possibly be aware of it. Maybe I should..." "Maybe you should trust me,” Vincent cut in. “I've seen enough thralled humans to be able to know that I don't show any of the signs. And anyway, if it had been a thrall, it wouldn't have taken us so long to sleep—" Don raised a hand. “OK. I believe you. Keep the details to yourself. It's hard enough to imagine that your life is linked to a vampire's, but that you two are actually ... doing it..." His face contorted in a grimace, and Vincent had the brief urge to tell him he would keep his details quiet as long as Don kept his sex life with Jeanie under wraps too. Something else altogether came out, however. Now that Don knew, it was strangely easier to say more, and express aloud things that Vincent had barely been starting to admit to himself. "It's more than that,” he murmured, smile gone and entirely serious now. “I think I'm falling in love with her." Fits of coughing made it clear what Don thought of that, but he expressed his incredulity vocally too. "Love? You love Lilia? The same Lilia who killed Peter seven years ago and who's been trying to kill you ever since? Don't tell me there's no thrall, Vince. I can't believe—" "Neither can I, actually. It's not as if I wanted to love her. And I know perfectly well what she did. What she is. As much as I hate to even admit it, she killed Peter in a fair fight, Don. He would have killed her instead if he had been better. Or I could have been the one fighting her that night, and she might have killed me, or I, her." "You're finding excuses for her now?” Don spat, clearly irritated. "No. I'm not excusing what she did. Just saying ... I'm in love with her. I can't control that, I can't reason with myself and tell myself I shouldn't be. I tried, and it didn't work." "It's the Mating thing,” Don tried to argue. “It's playing with your mind."

"That's what I thought in the beginning, but it's more than that. It's her. It's..." He shrugged. He could spend an hour discussing what he saw in Lilia, but he doubted that Don would ever understand. For a long moment, the only sound was that of beer bottles being slowly emptied. Then Don rose to get two more bottles in the kitchen, giving one to Vincent when he returned. "So, you two are a couple, then?” he asked with the tone of someone who resigned himself to the fact that he already knew the answer to the question he was asking. "I'm not sure,” Vincent confessed. “We sleep together, and she let slip that she has feelings for me, but..." "But what?” Don prompted when Vincent fell silent. “She loves you, you love her, and there goes another happy ending. Except, you know, for the whole bloodsucking thing, and the ‘she dies, you die’ clause." Vincent didn't answer. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell Lilia, and he didn't even know why he was hesitating. As long as all they did was spend their nights together, things were simple, and there were no expectations other than what happened in the bedroom. What would happen if he told her? She had come close to completely closing down when he had offered her the earrings, and she had never acknowledged the flowers. Understanding women had never been Vincent's forte, but understanding a woman who also happened to be a vampire might prove too much for him. "Well, one thing's for sure,” Don said with a long-suffering sigh. “You'll have to tell Jeanie yourself and calm her when she freaks out that there'll be a vampire at the reception." Vincent laughed as he brought the fresh bottle to his lips, but interrupted his gesture to look at Don questioningly. "What reception?” Don grinned a bit bashfully. “Did I mention we're getting married?" **** There was something going on with Vincent, and it was driving Lilia insane. They had been hunting for a couple of hours already, and he had alternated between bouts of non stop babbling about the most trivial things and moments of complete silence when he was looking at her while pretending not to. If she hadn't known any better, she would have seriously believed he was thinking about staking her and was nervous about it. But he couldn't do that, not if he wanted to live. Therefore, something else had to be bothering him, and she had almost asked a couple of times before stopping herself. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, not when she had decided to step back from whatever it was they were sharing. In fact, she might as well start stepping back right now. "I'm going to say my goodbyes for tonight,” she announced, catching him off guard during one of his silent moments. “I've got errands to run." "Oh. I could ... come with you, maybe. It looks like a slow night." The nonchalance of his tone was belied by the expectant look on his face, and for a second, Lilia

hesitated, before remembering her resolve. They had Mated by accident. That didn't mean they had to spend every hour of every day together. "You'd get bored,” she said, her tone more dismissive than she would have wished, and she felt compelled to lie further. “I'm just ... going to pay my rent, buy some blood, really, nothing exciting." He shrugged. “As you wish, then. I guess I'll do one more round tonight before heading home." There was almost a question in his words, and she guessed that it wasn't home where he wanted to finish his night, but she let it pass without making an invitation, cheering herself on for holding to what she had decided. Then she fell back on easy habits. "I'll see you tomorrow at nightfall?" He nodded, even smiled, and she walked away from him before she could falter. Yes, she loved him. Yes, she was Mated to him. Yet, neither meant that she had to pretend to be a human to please him. Neither prevented her from finding another lover. And neither ought to have made her feel so guilty at the idea that she had lied to him, and that she would fuck someone other than him before the night was over. Guilt was for humans; the whole point was to prove that she was anything but human. Once upon a life, dance clubs had been one of her favorite hunting grounds. Music and crowds had a way to make bodies and blood pulse with heat, excitement and pure, unadulterated joy. She hadn't set foot in one in a while, though, not since being Mated to Vincent. Being surrounded by so many potential prey and not being able to feed would have been too hard. At first, she tried regular clubs, but she was spotted as a vampire faster than she could seduce. So, she resigned herself to a very particular type of club, one where humans went to experience the thrill of being bitten if they found the right vamp. She had always hated this kind of place, she liked her prey to be fresh, liked also the hint of fear in their blood when they realized what she was. But this time, it didn't matter. Anyone would do. Anyone as long as it wasn't Vincent. **** The Law didn't formally require it, but most clubs and bars had adopted the practice. Mirror panels on the ceiling were unobtrusive, yet they allowed the patrons to know, with no more than a quick glance up, if the person dancing with them was human or vampire. Most people didn't leave the dance floor if the mirror showed them dancing alone, but they usually were more cautious once the song had ended. Vampires sometimes complained that it was discrimination; club owners shrugged it off by pointing out that it wasn't their fault that vampires had no reflection. The club Vincent was in, however, prided itself on the total absence of mirrors on its premises. It was common knowledge that the human owner of On The Edge lived with two vampires, and anyone on the dance floor was as likely to be human as to be a vamp. Most humans who were there proudly displayed bite marks and often were in search of a vamp to spend the night with, but not all vampires were of a play-oriented mind. Recently, several drained bodies had been found about two blocks from the club—not too close, the vampires didn't want to lose such a prime hunting ground. The club consisted of two levels. On the ground floor, a bar occupied the central space while tables, chairs and sofas were scattered around the room, offering spaces to talk, or a little more than talk in the barely lit alcoves. On the lower level, the music pounded loud enough to drown out any attempt at

conversation. It was a space to dance and seduce with body language and looks, nothing more. Linking the two levels, a set of staircases and suspended bridges gave the impression that the two separated spaces were one and the same, which, maybe, they were. It was on one of these bridges that Vincent stood, leaning against the railing and watching the scene under him. It wasn't easy figuring out who was human and who was a vamp in such a moving, throbbing crowd, but Vincent had learned over the years to read bodies pretty well. However confident humans were, there was always something, in their gestures, in the way they looked at other people, in the way they moved in relation to others, that gave them away. They were creatures of a society that frowned mildly upon those who associated with vampires too closely, and the thrill of the taboo was there, just underneath their skin. In contrast, vampires always looked like what they were at the core. Hunters. No human Casanova could ever achieve the stride or hungry look of a vampire on the prowl. His contact at the police department had suggested, the last time he had been there, that Vincent check the club out and try to find out which vampire or vampires were responsible for the kills. Another Special Enforcer was on the case, but he apparently wasn't having much luck. Vincent didn't like to step on other people's toes, and that was why he hadn't come to the club so far. Simple professional courtesy, and absolutely nothing to do with not wanting to take Lilia where another Enforcer might recognize what she was and wonder why Vincent worked with her. No, nothing to do with that at all. Vincent had been keeping an eye on a couple of vamps that gave off dangerous vibes when he first caught sight of her. At first, he was sure he had just imagined it; his thoughts had been drifting toward her, which wasn't unusual. His mind must have conjured her image. Then he saw her again, and this time there was no denying that it was Lilia. She was in the middle of the dance floor, squirming close enough to a male body that they couldn't have gotten any closer to each other without getting rid of their clothes first. Vincent's mind went blank as he watched her and vainly tried to understand what was going on. When she had said she had errands to run, he never imagined this was what she meant. His grip tightened on the railing when he saw the guy take her hand and lead her to one of the staircases almost directly opposite where Vincent stood. She followed and smiled. Vincent lost sight of her as they were stepping onto the first level floor, and he hurried there himself, but he couldn't find them in the club, nor did he see them when he rushed out in the street. The numbness was overwhelming; he had been trying to summon the courage to tell her what he felt for her, and it turned out that all the while she had played with him, with his emotions. And now it was over.

Chapter 16 Vincent looked mildly surprised when Lilia turned up on his doorstep, half an hour after sunset. She didn't understand why, she usually came to him at the same time. She tried to ask him what was wrong, but he denied that anything was going on and walked out of the house, closing the door behind him with a bang and an angry jerk of his key. A little perplexed, she followed him as he strode off without waiting for her, wondering what he wasn't telling. She couldn't remember seeing him in such a bad mood before. He refused to say a word however

as they started hunting; after a moment, she fell as quiet. Maybe he had had a rough day and needed to let out some tension. She would ask again once he had calmed down. She certainly could understand the feeling; she had been in his place often enough lately. Her discovery of the previous night had left her however with a strange peace of mind. She had tried fighting off what she felt for Vincent, tried finding the same pleasure in another's arms, but had been unable to go through with it. It had angered her tremendously at the time, but after a few hours of ranting and creative redecoration of the mausoleum, she had finally calmed down enough to accept that there was nothing she could do. It wasn't just the Mating claim, as she had tried to convince herself, that attracted her to Vincent. It was him. His very being. What he did, what he said, the way he fought, and the way he made love to her. Or fucked her. Whichever it was. And if he wanted to pretend to himself that she was human ... well, that didn't change who or what she was, and he was deluding no one but himself. In time, maybe, he would come to accept that she was a vampire and nothing he did could change that. "Vincent? How about you stake that poor thing and we move on?" He threw a glance at her before following her advice, but the look was so brief that she didn't manage to read his mood through it. The way he had been pummeling that vampire, however, using fists and feet rather than his stake, gave her a good idea of how bad his temper still was. She only wished she knew what had upset him so. "Did something happen?” she asked, unable to refrain from asking anymore. "Something like what?” he replied, his voice tense. "If I knew, I wouldn't ask." "If you knew,” he repeated, and the snarl in his voice felt like venom, but he didn't say anything more. And Lilia got tired of it. "OK, I've had enough, I'm going home. When you've gotten whatever it is out of your system, you know where to find me." They had been patrolling in one of the town's graveyard when she left him. By the time she had reached the street, she could tell that he was following her. She slowed her step, hoping that he would catch up with her and start to explain himself, but he remained at a distance behind her. She had half a mind to go on her own hunt, or simply walk around town to see how long he would remain trailing behind her, but she wasn't really in the mood for games, not after her attempts of the previous night at fooling herself. She knew what would happen once they reached her mausoleum. She didn't have a problem with it. What she hadn't expected however was Vincent's attitude when he finally passed the invisible threshold to her bedroom and found her waiting two steps inside. He was on her immediately, pushing her backwards until she was trapped between the wall and him, his hands roughly cupping her face as he pressed his mouth to hers in a hard kiss that was anything but subtle. His tongue thrust past her lips and their teeth clashed. All Lilia could think as he gave the impression of wanting to devour her, claim her, was she didn't mind so much anymore that he had been upset if this was the result. She enjoyed their slow make-out sessions, no doubt there, but there was something about a good, hard fuck that she had missed recently.

Pushing him back to break off the kiss, she leered at him. "Think we're going to make it to the bed?" His answer was to lunge at her again and kiss her even more fiercely, but this time his hands flew straight to the fastenings of her pants and within seconds he was pealing the leather off her and struggling to push it down. Not wanting to lose any time, she reached for his own zipper but this time he stopped the kiss and stepped back. "Take them off,” he demanded, gesturing at her pants, caught around her knees. He was rarely so assertive and a silent thrill ran through Lilia as she obeyed. She didn't mind running the show, but following could be fun, too. She kicked off the boots in two seconds each, then her leather pants too, but Vincent still managed to be ready before her—truthfully, all he did was unzip his pants and push them and his boxers down. With barely a snap of his wrist, her panties were gone, now a useless scrap of lace, but before she could protest he took hold of her arm and made her face the wall. His hand at her back pressed forward and down until she was supporting herself with both hands on the wall and his foot nudged hers apart. He barely ran a finger against her slit before his cock was there, pushing in as forcefully as she had expected it. She took the sharp, forceful thrusts in stride, and pushed back against him as much as she could until his hands tightened on her hips in a silent request that she stilled. His fingers held her so tight, she could tell already she would have bruises by the time they were done, and it only made her want more. For the first time, he was touching her like what she was—a demon. And she loved every second of it. He didn't make a sound as he continued to pound into her, but she allowed the gasps and cries to escape her throat; keeping them in would have been too hard. The only warning she had before she felt him come was his fingernails digging into the flesh of her hips, and the pinpricks of pain overloaded her body with sensation, making her lose herself in her orgasm as he was losing himself in her. Lilia wasn't quite sure how she ended up—finally—on the bed. She wasn't too sure either what the hell was going on with Vincent for him to be ready for more so soon, and pushing her legs up. He was usually more of a cuddler. But she definitely wasn't going to complain now. **** His second climax left Vincent as unsatisfied as the first had, and when Lilia rolled to her side with a sigh and started sliding an arm over his body, he sat up and reached for his jacket on the ground, pulling out his cigarettes and lighter and dislodging her abruptly. "So,” he said as he was lighting one, “shall I go home so you can go find a replacement to finish the night?" He inhaled and held the smoke in a little longer than usual, letting it burn just as Lilia's lies did. She opened an eye and looked up at him, seemingly half-asleep. "Hmm?"

He didn't buy the sleepiness, nor did he believe that she didn't know what he was talking about. If she wanted to play that game however, he was ready. The sneer on his lips would hide the pain. Or so he hoped. "I mean, if I'm that bad, you could at least give me a clue. Help me improve. I'm not that proud that I won't take advice in bed." This time, she sat up, frowning, pulling the sheet with her to remain covered, and somehow the gesture felt like one more piece of proof to Vincent. She had never been shy of her body before, so why would she be now? And what else was she hiding from him? "What in hell are you yammering about, Jordan?" He had gotten used to her switching to his last name when she was annoyed with him, but at the moment, it irritated him beyond all reason. "Oh, it's Jordan again, is it?” he shot back as he scrambled off the bed and, flicking the cigarette to the floor, started gathering the clothes he had discarded earlier. “I guess I should have seen it coming. I have to admit, you had me fooled with your declarations of love and all that. Although I don't see what you were trying to accomplish by making me believe..." He had managed to fight his way into his jeans when she stood and caught his wrist, stilling him as he was struggling to button them with hands shaking from anger. "Will you stop for a minute and tell me what you're talking about?" He could almost believe the puzzlement on her features, and he hated her for being able to manipulate him so easily—and hated himself even more for not having managed to see through her act until now. "I'm talking about last night, Lilia. You went off saying you had errands to run and then what did you do?" At last, slow comprehension appeared on her face, and she let go of her hold on his wrist. He took advantage of that to grab the t-shirt at his feet and pull it on over his head. "You spied on me?” she asked, her voice like ice. He wanted to deny it, wanted to confess that he had trusted her, before she had thrown his trust straight back into his face, but the need to hear her admit what she had done was stronger. "What did you do, Lilia?” he repeated, standing still now but ready for the blow of her words. She shook her head, eyes wide and outraged, as though he were the guilty party instead of her. "I can't believe you fucking spied on me!" Something snapped in Vincent at hearing her turn the tables on him, and he was practically shouting when he answered. "AndI can't believe you fuck people on the side! Guess that's two of us surprised, here!"

If anything, her eyes widened even more, pupils dilated in anger but no words passing her parted lips even when they moved. "What, no explanation?” he mocked. “No witty come back? I'm disappointed, Lilia. That's not like you. But then maybe your acts are more truthful than your words." All emotions deserted both her face and voice. “Get out." It still wasn't enough. Hurt as he was, Vincent wanted at least an admission that she was the one at fault. He glared at her, standing at all his height in front of her so that she had to look up. “Not happy that I found out, are you?" "There was nothing to find out, Jordan." Still she refused to come clean. What would it take her to admit defeat? "You lied to me!” he spat. “You cheated—" "I did not!” she cut in, standing her ground in front of him and returning his glare. “And in any case, we'd need to be in a relationship for me to be able to cheat on you. And we don't have that, do we?" The bitterness in her tone, he attributed to her annoyance at having been unmasked. She wasn't going to say she was sorry, he realized, nor would she even own up to her guilt. Disgusted, he turned his back on her, picking up his boots, shirt, and coat. He had to look back one more time, though. "You're playing with words, Lilia. But you're done playing with me." Arms crossed over her naked chest, she practically growled. “Get out of here." **** Vincent walked away, back stiff and looking very much as though he were the wronged one, and Lilia glared at him until he had disappeared. She had never imagined he would follow her and spy on her, not when he had made such a point of demonstrating he trusted her. That only proved that it must have been a show, and nothing more. She had to admit he was a good actor. If she had known this would be the result, she would have tried harder to fuck someone; at least, Vincent would have had a cause for being so mad. Rambling to herself about what an idiot he was, she threw on some clothes, determined to go after him and tell him exactly what she had been doing in that club, and how spying on her had destroyed any hope they might have had. That didn't make much sense, she realized to some extent, but she couldn't let him just walk away from her like that. Even if shehad told him to go away. She was practically at the door when she stopped in her tracks; she ran back to the bedroom and snatched the earrings from the plain cardboard box under the bed where she kept them. She couldn't have explained the gesture; she just wanted the damn things with her and put them on while cursing Vincent in several languages. Finally ready, she strode out of the mausoleum with the hurried pace of someone whose anger is overwhelming.

Maybe because of the anger, maybe because she was muttering and rambling against Vincent as though he had been in front of her already, she didn't notice the group of vampires until it surrounded her. Alexei was leading them, and he smiled at her a little sadly. "It will be easier on you if you come along of your own will, Lilia. He might even consider it as a step in the right direction when he decides on your punishment." She rolled her eyes at him. There was no need to ask about whom he was speaking. “You forget I've known him longer than you have. If he sent you to get me, he's already pissed off beyond words." Alexei shrugged, the smile vanishing. “Yeah, that describes him pretty well. I don't envy you right now." She realized, too late, that her rage had blinded her and he had only been distracting her. As he finished talking, a net was thrown over her to impede her movements; seconds later, two heavy ropes were bound around her, one at her chest and waist, trapping her hands, the other around her legs. She fell to the ground and cursed profusely as they picked her up like a bag of laundry to take her away. To take her to Nathanael.

Chapter 17 The night was cool, and Vincent crossed his arms over his chest to keep his jacket closed. Cool and quiet, too. Not a single vamp so far, unfriendly or otherwise; he was getting bored. Still, the idea of going home never crossed his mind. He had a job to do, people to save, and quite honestly, an itch to thrust that damn stake into a vampire's chest and release some of his pent-up tension. The grain of the wood was smooth in his hand, polished by many nights like this one, where he had held on to the stake as though it was a safe line. It had kept him safe, quite a few times, so maybe it was just that. What it didn't do, however, was prevent him from thinking about her. He missed Lilia. He had been sure she would come to him, despite their spat from two nights earlier. She wasn't the type to pout or keep her thoughts, good or bad, to herself, and he had been ready to argue his point and demand an explanation. Ready to listen, also, this time, now that the burning ache of her betrayal had faded to a dull throb. However, she hadn't joined him. He had wondered, a few times, if she might be following him without letting her presence be known, but he had been attentive to all noises around him the previous night and now again, and he didn't believe she was around. And he missed her. It had been months since he had last gone so long between seeing her. The last time had been after she had accidentally killed that human, when she had been sure he would stake her. This ache was ten times worse than it had been the last time. He would never have believed he would miss her quite that much, not after less than forty-eight hours. Then, he had never believed either he would ever feel for her what she had claimed to feel for him. He had obviously been wrong on both counts. He missed her too much.

Giving up on his hunt, he directed his steps toward her mausoleum. He wasn't exactly rushing there, but he wasn't taking his time either. He had to see her, had to ask her what that had all been about, had to understand. Had to makeher understand. A fool hope was promising him that once she knew, once she realized he missed her so much and why, everything would clear up and they would be back to how things had been before, except better because now he wouldn't feel so guilty anymore about taking advantage of the situation, of her feelings. They would be a real couple, or as much as a vampire and a human could be. More than a couple. Mates. Yes, he knew he was being a fool. He knocked on the heavy door of her mausoleum, but there was no answer. He knocked again, louder, and upon leaving the wood, his hand went straight to his neck and mindlessly rubbed at the suddenly stinging bite marks. When he still didn't get an answer, he pushed the door and stepped inside. The mausoleum was dark, darker than usual; of the three torches that provided light in the front part of the edifice, only one was burning. It made the space seem larger, somehow, the shadows untouched by the light almost impenetrable. "Lilia?” he called out as he stepped deeper into the room, his steps echoing behind him. “Come on, we've got to talk." The answer he hoped for never came, and, slightly hesitant, he went to the wall that concealed the entrance to her bedroom. “I'm coming in,” he announced loudly as he stepped over the invisible boundary. “I just want to..." A few steps into the bedroom made it clear that it was as empty as the front room. By the look of the bed, he had the feeling that she hadn't slept in it since he had left. He could still see the imprint his body had left on the overly soft mattress, and right in the middle of it, where he had dropped and forgotten it in his haste, laid a pack of cigarettes. "Where are you?” he murmured as his gaze swept over the room, looking for a hint as to where she had gone. There was nothing however, and, disappointed, he left the room and then the mausoleum. As he stood outside, in front of the door, he wondered once more where she could be. He pushed back the fleeting thought that she might have gone back to the club after he had left, found another man and stayed with him; he couldn't bear to think of that possibility. He remembered how, after killing the human by accident, she had gone on a drinking binge. Was she, maybe, in a bar, drowning her anger into alcohol, or so completely drunk she had passed out somewhere? Or maybe ... maybe she had left town. That thought was somehow worse than the idea she might have found refuge in another's bed. He would give her a couple of days, he decided; she had after all appeared to be as upset as he was. Once she was ready to talk, she would come to him. He knew she would. If nothing else, the pull of being Mated to him would bring her back. Or so he hoped. **** "I'm very disappointed, Lilia."

Lilia wasn't sure what was worse, the swishing sound of the whip slashing the air before it hit, the pain when it did, or the tranquil ice of Nathanael's voice. He was always at his nastiest when he sounded serene and composed. Trying to ignore him, she focused on the feel of her blood running down her naked back, across her ass and down her legs before it pooled at her feet. Even so, she could still hear every one of his words, just as she could feel the eyes of the minions on her, or smell both their fear and excitement. From Nathanael, she could only discern the scent of his concealed anger. "I thought you knew me well enough to realize if there's one thing I truly cannot stand, it's to be made a fool." The whip fell again, heavy and unforgiving, and someone cried out. Lilia was almost surprised to realize it had been her. She had been trying hard to keep quiet, knowing from having witnessed it in the past that shouts only encouraged Nathanael to strike harder. "Did you even think about the example you were setting for the rest of the clan?" Her resolve to remain silent hadn't lasted long, but Lilia clung to her refusal to give him an explanation. It wouldn't help anything; on the contrary, it might make things worse. And it wasn't as if he really wanted her to answer, anyway. He didn't care about how things had happened, and why she had Mated with a human. All that mattered to him was what he would do about it. It was all a show, for the benefit of the entire clan assembled in a circle around them. A punitive lesson for her, a preemptive one for the others. She had seen him do this too often before not to realize it. "Working with a human who kills your own kind?" The leather dug in deeper; the next hit was even harder. Lilia let her head hang down, and focused her gaze and thoughts on the fading bruises, shaped just like fingers, that graced her hips. "Fucking the enemy?" The beating stopped for a second and she could hear fingers snapping once. Lilia squeezed her eyes shut, taking in a deep breath; she wished she hadn't known the scurrying feet were that of a minion, bringing a fresh weapon to Nathanael. "Mating with a human?" She arched as far as her chains would allow, but there was no escape from the flogger; no escape from the leather strands that had been soaked in holy water. No escape from the pain as fire seemed to seep below her skin and consume her from the inside out. On the last hit, the tip of a strand came to lick at the edge of her Mating scar, and Lilia threw her head back as her shout morphed into a sob at the throbbing that radiated through her body. Nathanael's steps echoed in the otherwise utterly silent room as he walked around and came to stand mere inches in front of her. When he cupped her face, it was almost with the same rare gentleness he had occasionally offered her over the years and that had made her believe, for so long, that he did love her as much as she had once loved him. "Yes, Childe, cry,” he murmured as he softly stroked her wet cheek with his thumb. The smile curling his lips however was anything but gentle. “It will take many tears before I decide what to do with you. And a little begging wouldn't hurt either."

She didn't flinch when he bit over the marks that bore witness to her turning; they were his, he could do with them as he pleased. But even if she knew better than to resist, she couldn't prevent her body from tensing, her hands from tightening in the chains that held her up when he tilted her head to the other side and tore into her Mating scar. In the past, having him take her blood and being allowed, a few precious times, to take his in return, had been one of the most powerful experiences Lilia had known, as well as one of the most erotic ones too. But when he bit her so harshly that it seemed he was trying to erase the mark Vincent had left on her, all she felt was the overwhelming sensation that this was wrong; his fangs didn't belong in her anymore, least of all there. She was Vincent's, as much as Vincent was hers, and it had never been so clear as it was at that moment. Somehow, the thought helped when Nathanael let go of her neck and, stepping behind her, asked for the whip again. Or it did until she remembered, in painful detail, her last encounter with Vincent, and the way they had parted. Had he even noticed she had vanished? Would he realize something was wrong before their Mating link informed him of her death and drove him insane? This time, she didn't try to stop the tears when they started rolling down her cheeks. **** Back home after a shortened patrol, Vincent helped himself to a glass of wine before reaching out for a heavy, ancient book on the shelf. He sat down on the sofa before opening it, using the large satin ribbon to find his place. Immediately, Lilia's face appeared, and he unconsciously smiled as he touched a finger to the portrait. With slow sips of wine, he read her biography again, skimming past the few lines describing what was known of her life as a human and going straight to her vampire existence. Some part of him, deep down, was hoping that by reading about her again, by getting to know what she had done in the past, he might be able to understand her better and, maybe, figure out what had happened. Why she had first told him she loved him, then searched for another lover. Why she had left without an explanation. He fell asleep on the sofa, the empty glass escaping his hand to roll on the carpet. And, as he had been so sure he would, as he had even hoped, he dreamed of Lilia. **** Vincent is still panting, still shaking, still seeing stars despite his closed eyes and the blindfold over them, and his only thought is summed up in a single word that escapes his lips every so often without his consent or knowledge. "Wow." With tender, so tender gestures, Lilia unties the fabric around his ankles, first one then the other, massaging lightly and even kissing with barely more pressure than a butterfly wing where the bonds have chaffed a little. Then, dropping kisses here and there along his body, she moves back up and repeats the process with the bonds that hold his wrists to the headboard. At last, at long last, Vincent is free, but he realizes there's no reason to move, nowhere else he wants to be. He was ready for anything, when coming to her, as she had asked. But what he has received is the last thing he would have expected. The pain and bite he feared have been utterly absent, and in their place there have only been touches so soft they were barely there, yet so arousing they had driven him insane in minutes. If asked what Lilia has done to him, he might struggle for a word, and might, just might,

eventually choose ‘worshipped'. She lies down against him, and the coolness of her flesh is delightful against his heated skin. He expects her to remove the blindfold, too, but she doesn't reach for it. He turns his face toward her, hoping that she will take the hint, but still she doesn't move. He is sure however that she is watching him, he could swear he can feel her eyes on him, just like he could when she first blindfolded him and stood without touching him for a while. The silence, comfortable and complicit, becomes suddenly heavy. "Lilia,” he murmurs. Almost questions. "Remember when you asked why I didn't want to turn you?" With his brain still mostly short-circuited by pleasure, Vincent is not sure he does remember, but it doesn't seem to matter because she continues without waiting for his answer. "Would you like to know now why I don't? Why I won't?" Part of him couldn't care less and only wishes that she would drape herself over him so that they could sleep a little. That's why he is surprised to hear himself answer with a yes. "I thought about it that first day after we Mated. And the idea of being linked even more closely than I already was to someone I couldn't stand felt dreadful." His whole body tenses against her at her words, and his hand flies to the blindfold, ready to tear it away so that he can see her, at last, and understand better what she is saying. But her hand is there as fast as his own, and she stops him, laces her fingers with his, soothes him, and continues talking. "It's different, now. I don't want to turn you, Vincent Jordan, because you wouldn't be Vincent Jordan anymore. The very core of you would be the same, maybe, as well as the memories and all that you know, but ... Vampires aren't the same persons they were as humans. They change, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, and there's no way to tell beforehand which it will be." Vincent wants to tell her that he knows all that, that he has said as much to many parents, spouses, children and friends in the past to explain to them why the vampire wearing a face they knew was not who they thought it was. Again, she speaks before he does. "So, you see, I can't turn you. I would lose you if I did. I would get to keep you forever, but it wouldn't really be you. Not the you I fell in love with." She finishes with a whisper, and lays down her head at the crook of his shoulder. This time, when he reaches for the blindfold, she lets him. He removes it and stares up at the ceiling for a long moment, unsure of what, if anything, he can say or do, unsure of what just happened. He came here to prove to her his trust, but he thinks that, maybe, by telling him this, she has proven to him that he has earned hers, and he's not quite sure what he's supposed to do with it.

Chapter 18 Nine days had passed in a slow trickle of hours and worry since their argument when Vincent found it.

He had just come out after nightfall, thoroughly uninterested in yet another lonely hunt, and was locking his door when his gaze fell on the piece of jewelry right in front of him. It had been hooked through the metal scrollwork that covered the etched glass panel on the top portion of his door. For an instant, he didn't recognize it, so covered in dried blood. But when he picked it up and ran a thumb over the central pattern, the blood flaked away, revealing silver scrollwork and sapphires. It was one of the earrings he had offered Lilia. Did her blood cover it? His heart skipped a beat at the thought, but he refused to let fear take hold. If she had died, he would have known, the Mating claim would have seen to it. He had clung to that idea for the past nine days, repeating to himself that she was somewhere, safe; whatever had happened to her, wherever she had decided to go, she wasn't dust. But there was more than that. He couldn't believe that she would have come to his door, left the earring there and gone away without talking to him. It just wasn't possible. That meant someone had taken the earring from her, covered it in blood, and sent it to him. As a message, perhaps? A warning? At the very least, it meant that someone had Lilia. He went to her mausoleum, running the whole way. He had been there again five days earlier, and had spent the entire day and night there, hoping without believing that, maybe, she would come back. After that, he had told himself that she had to have left town. Had he perhaps missed a clue? Was there something in there that might point him in the right direction? There wasn't much to see in the main room, nothing out of place. He walked into the hidden bedroom and lit what remained of the pillar candles, looking for a sign, anything that would show someone had come in. Again, he saw nothing. The room was exactly as he remembered it. Growing more worried with each passing second, he walked out of the mausoleum, and hesitated for an instant before finally deciding on a destination. If Lilia hadn't been taken in her mausoleum, it might have happened in front of witnesses. Someone had to know something. He just needed to find the right person. His first stop was in the entertainment district of the town. Blood bars, where humans paid a few dollars, chose a vamp, and enjoyed the thrill without the risk, were part of this gray area the law didn't cover, and they were almost always in back alleys, unmarked doors that opened only for the right words. Vincent didn't bother with passwords. He showed his license through the spy hole, and the vamp behind the door knew enough to realize that not opening was riskier than letting him enter. To every vampire in the club, Vincent asked the same questions. Did they know a vampire by the name of Lilia and had they heard anything about her recently. He received a few glares, some uninterested shakes of head, a couple of fearful looks and a few invites to try another vampire rather than the girl he was looking for, but he didn't get any useful information. He went to three other blood bars after that, again asking the same questions and getting no useful answer in reply. When he exited the last bar, he could have screamed in frustration. A handful of the vampires had acknowledged that they had heard of Lilia, but all they knew was that she had turned coat and was working with a human to destroy her own kind. That was the only slightly interesting fact he had learned that night. If random vamps knew what she did, maybe others did too. Others, such as the

members of her clan. Vincent had wondered, more than once, why Nathanael allowed one of his Childer to act as Lilia did, but she had refused to even broach the subject of Nathanael, once pointing out that she had said more than enough while under the truth spell. Could it be that Nathanael had caught up with her? Out of ideas as to whom to ask and frozen both in his mind and body, he returned home as the sky was growing darker just before dawn arrived. Habit rather than deliberate thought made him undress, shower, and settle into bed; but for hours, all he did was toss and turn, and try to think of a way to find Lilia. An idea finally came to him a little before noon, and he hurriedly got clothed and ran out of the house, clutching the earring in his hand. Don's store was in the center of town in the shopping district. It was a dream Vincent could remember his friend talking about ever since Miss Wallhorst in seventh grade had had them write a report on what job they wanted to do when they grew up. Vincent's chosen career at the time had been banker by day, fireman by night. Don's, already, had been to work in a bookstore. Not just any bookstore, but the one they had passed on a trip to the town's museum. The bewitched sign in the front read ‘Other Worlds’ in glittering letters, with in smaller script ‘mystical books for the open-minded reader'. By sixteen, Vincent had changed his mind a dozen times about his career, but Don hadn't, and he had overcome his shyness long enough to ask the old owner if, maybe, he needed help after school hours, even the unpaid kind. Four years later, the owner had died childless, and his will had designated Don as the new owner of the shop and what it contained. It wasn't the most profitable business in town, but Don often proclaimed he never expected to become rich with it. It had been his dream, and it was enough that he had realized it. Vincent was panting when he arrived at the bookstore, his heart and mind beating to the same confused, panicked rhythm, to the point that he was unable to utter anything comprehensible while Don fussed over him, obviously worried. Finally, a large glass of water helped calm his nerves and he managed to explain what he needed. "Lilia ... disappeared. Someone has her. Has taken her. You've got to help me find her." Don's eyebrows shot up and questions fused. “Someone? Who? Why? When did..." "I don't know who,” Vincent interrupted, grabbing his friend's arm as if to hold his attention. “Is there a spell you can do? Something to localize her? Like you did that one time for that vamp nest and..." "Calm down,” Don said coolly. “Just ... go in the office and take a seat, and let me find a couple of books. I'll be right there. Just calm down, Vince, all right?" Numbly, Vincent nodded and went to sit in the office behind the counter. There, he noticed the pinprick of pain in his palm; the earring hook had cut into his skin as he had held on to it too tightly, and now it was stained with blood again, this time his own. "I've got it,” Don announced, entering the office with a book already open in his hands. He sat down on the other side of the desk and his lips moved as he followed a line with his finger. Vincent watched, waited, and soon became impatient. It wasn't the right time for Don to get lost in one of his damn books. "Don? The spell? Find Lilia?" His friend looked up, frowning impatiently. “What do you think I'm doing? I don't want to mess it up; I'm trying to find the best option. This particular spell is quick but I need something of hers for it, do you have..."

Before he could finish, Vincent held out the earring toward him. “Will that be enough?" "Jewelry is good,” Don acknowledged as he took it, but he was soon frowning again. “Is that her blood?" "No, it's mine,” Vincent grimaced, showing his pricked palm. "Ah. Yes. I see. I hope it won't interfere..." His voice dropped to an incomprehensible mumble as he meticulously cleared the desk of the stacks of papers and books that covered it, then pulled out a map of the town from a drawer and spread it out. Vincent watched him, knowing better than to talk now and distract him. Finally, after seconds that seemed to stretch into hours, Don chanted a few phrases and held the earring above the map. The dried blood suddenly turned liquid again and fell to the map, not straight down as gravity would have demanded but at an angle too steep to be caused by anything other than magic. Both Vincent and Don immediately leaned over the map, and came to the same conclusion after only a couple of seconds. "That's ... the bookshop,” Vincent muttered, disappointed. "It picked up on your blood and localized you,” Don explained, reaching for the book again. “I suspected it might happen but I hoped ... oh well. There are other spells that help localize people; I just need to find the best one. Give me a minute." Two hours and five spells later, they weren't any closer to figuring out where Lilia was. "There's only two reasons I can see why none of these would work,” Don sighed, starting to rub his eyes then realizing his hands were covered with the dark green goop that the last spell had involved. “Either whatever place she's in is shielded by a really powerful charm, or..." He looked down, clearly uneasy, and Vincent had to prompt him to continue. "Or?" "Or she's dust,” Don said, slightly apologetic. Vincent shook his head. “She can't be. I'd know it if she was. The Mating..." "Yes, I know,” Don cut in. “I've looked up all my sources about Mating claims, I know what happens when one of you dies. What is not clear is how long it takes before it becomes too hard to live. There isn't any description of what the survivor feels, how he or she knows what happened. For that matter, even less is known about a Mating taking place between a human and vampire since most humans usually end up turned—" "Don,” Vincent said warningly, trying to stop the lecture he felt coming. His friend gave him a contrite look. "All I'm saying, is that you don't know what you would feel if she was dead, so you might be feeling it already and not be able to recognize it. I've been watching you for two hours. Vince, I've never seen you

so much on edge. Not even when you tried to stop smoking. Maybe that's it." As he stood, Vincent practically growled, “She's not dead. I know she's not. She's somewhere out there and with someone who thinks it's a game to send me presents covered in blood and I need to find her." "What if she thinks it's a game too?” Don asked, holding Vincent's gaze even when Vincent glared at him. "She wouldn't. She doesn't." With these words, he stormed out of the office. He had reached the shop's entrance when Don called out after him. “Vince, wait. Let me close and call Jeanie and I'll come with you. We'll find your girl." **** It took nine more days, after he had found the first earring, before the second one appeared on Vincent's door. It was, like the first one, covered in blood; but this time the blood was still fresh, and it left a faint mark on the white wood of Vincent's door. The other notable difference was that a piece of paper was threaded through the hook. Vincent took both paper and earring inside. Before anything else, he cleaned the piece of jewelry, his hands shaking as he did so. No spell to localize Lilia had worked, so keeping the blood on the metal would serve no purpose other than strike a nerve in Vincent. Only when the earring was clean did he open the letter. There were three lines on the piece of paper, written in an elegant cursive that spoke of age. Miss your girl, Jordan? Midnight, tomorrow night, Oak Grove Cemetery, by the pond. Come alone or she dies. Don't come, and she dies. There was no signature, but in an instant of blinding certainty, Vincent's unvoiced suspicions were confirmed and he knew who would be there when he went to the rendezvous. His feelings were backed up when Don dropped by an hour or so later and let himself in through the door Vincent hadn't closed behind him. "I was worried about you,” his friend said, and Vincent merely stared at him for a moment before dropping his eyes down to the letter again. "I thought you wanted to go looking for her again tonight,” Don pressed when he didn't answer. Still silent, Vincent handed the letter to him. "It's got to be Nathanael,” Don said immediately, voicing aloud what Vincent had figured out. “It's a trap, Vince. If you go there, he's going to kill you." "And if I don't,” Vincent answered hollowly, “he'll kill me by killing her. At least by going I'll see her one last time." "Don't you dare speak like that! You sound as though you're dead already! We'll do something, come up with a plan, we..."

"There's no ‘we',” Vincent abruptly interrupted him. He stood and took the letter back, reading it once more even though the words were engraved in his mind and he could have recited them from memory already. “It says I have to go alone, and I will." Don's sudden grip on his forearm was painful. “You're doing no such thing! It's suicide, Vince. I'm not going to let you throw away your life." Vincent freed himself almost too easily. "You're not my baby-sitter. And if I have to tie you down to make sure you're not going to interfere, I will. You've wanted out of this for years, well, here you go. You're fired. I don't need a lousy wizard trying to cover my back anyway." It was clear that Don took the words as a slap to the face, and for a second Vincent felt guilty. But if he wanted to keep his friend safe, dirty tricks were allowed, or so he told himself while watching Don stalk off and bang the door shut behind him. There was no reason for one more person to die the following night, not when it could be avoided. Two would be quite enough.

Chapter 19 An hour before sunset, Vincent was already there. He had slowly been driving himself insane all day at home. At first, he had checked and cross referenced every source, every bit of information he had about Nathanael, his way of fighting, planning, waging war. The act in itself had been utterly useless, because he had checked his books so often in the past seven years that he could have recited each passage word for word, and none of them would help him that night. The last book returned to the shelf, he had started pacing, back and forth across his living room, and the house wasn't big enough for him to take more than three long strides before furniture got in his way. That was when he had decided that pacing through the graveyard couldn't be any worse, and might actually be somewhat better since it was the place where he would see Lilia again. It was the place where he might also die. He was fully aware of that fact. He had been battling Nathanael for years, although always so far through minions and Childer rather than directly, and it was almost a wonder that the vampire hadn't ever launched a full-scale attack on him seeing how hard Vincent had been working at destroying his clan since Peter's death. The pond the note had mentioned was actually close in size to a lake; set right in the middle of the Oak Grove cemetery, the largest graveyard in the town, it was a peaceful and lovely place, where visitors often stopped after they had been to their families’ graves. There weren't any tombs closer than a couple hundred yards, and it was almost possible for someone sitting by the edge of the water, in the shade of the centennial trees, to forget where they were. The mayor had tried to have the pond emptied, once, to make room for more graves, but the water had obstinately returned, refusing to relinquish its rights despite being pumped out continuously for days. Some people said magic was involved; others whispered that the deceased didn't want to let go of this bit of life in their midst. Whatever the case, the pond was there to stay.

For a while, Vincent sat on one of the large rocks that formed a cluster on one side of the pond, and tried to calm his thoughts as he observed the slow waves created by a few birds frolicking in the water. That didn't work so well. On the shimmering surface, he could almost see Lilia's face, her body, constantly changing, sometimes smiling and opening her arms to him, sometimes glaring and attacking. He regretted their fight. He regretted that he had been too hurt to talk to her rather than to accuse. Maybe she had had a reason; maybe she could have explained, maybe... He knew he was fooling himself, but he couldn't help it. If he hadn't left her that night, what would have happened? Would she have been taken? He had this deep-seated feeling that things would have been completely different. And if by some miracle they both came out of the adventure alive, he had promised himself he would let her explain what had happened the night she had gone to the club. He might not like what she would say, but at least he would know for sure rather than imagine. Too restless to sit anymore, he jumped off the rock and started walking, slowly circling the pond. He didn't know exactly where Nathanael would meet him, so going around seemed as good a solution as choosing a random spot. With every new circle around the water, less and less visitors were sitting by the pond or on one of the many benches. Night was slowly falling, and people usually knew better than to be in a cemetery after dark. Vincent couldn't wait for the sun to finally disappear below the horizon, couldn't wait for the night to fall and make it safe for vampires to walk out. It was ten minutes after the sunset when he realized he still had a long wait in front of him. The note had said midnight. Hands thrust inside his pocket to prevent them from checking, as they had done countless times, that all his weapons were in place inside his jacket, ready to be grabbed and used, he continued to walk. Sometimes, he sat on a bench for a moment, his eyes always searching the night around him for silhouettes that would announce the end of this torturous wait; he could never stay still for long however. In his mind, the last few weeks were replaying. Every conversation he had had with Lilia, every smile or eye roll she had thrown at him, every caress and every cry, it all came back in a jumbled, bittersweet mess of memories that only made him miss her more. If only he had told her... His fingers were rubbing at the scars on his neck when he heard the sounds of steps behind him. He stopped immediately and pivoted in a slow circle, noticing that fifteen or so vampires surrounded him. Not good, not good at all, but he would have expected more, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. He came close to panicking however when he realized that Lilia wasn't there. He had come to the rendezvous with nothing but the hope of seeing her sustaining him; he wasn't sure what he would do if she wasn't... "Looking for someone, Vincent?" His head whipped toward the man's voice. Despite having battled his clan for years, he had never met Nathanael face to face. The vampire was elusive, and the simple fact that he was over four hundred years old spoke of his skills. But Vincent had seen drawings of him, and he recognized him instantly. His eyes however were soon attracted to the woman Nathanael held against him in a loose embrace. "You don't mind if I call you Vincent, do you?” he continued on an almost pleasant tone, walking further inside the circle so that he stood only a few steps from Vincent. “After all, you're Mated to my Childe, that makes youfamily ."

Vincent barely heard the speech, barely noticed the sneer on the last word; his attention was entirely focused on Lilia. Nathanael had an arm around her waist and held her tight to him now. She seemed almost ... absent. She was looking straight ahead, but her eyes held no emotions when they met Vincent's. He had seen that look before and he identified it easily. "You thralled her,” he accused even as a paragraph he had read earlier came to the front of his mind, detailing Nathanael's developed skills at the vampire equivalent to hypnotism. Nathanael let out a bark of laughter as he moved to stand behind Lilia, both arms now wrapped more tightly around her. "So I did. She's mine, always was, always will be. I'll thrall her if I want to. Or I could kill her, you know.” His voice was light, as though he were discussing nothing more important than the weather. “I made her, and she was by my side and in my bed for more than a century and half, but I'd kill her today without any hesitation. You know why?" "Because of me?” Vincent said numbly, and Nathanael nodded, his smile taking a darker shade. "Because of you. Because of what she did. She Mated with a human and disgraced herself, her Sire, her clan..." Vincent managed to remain still as Nathanael rambled on, all too aware of the circle of minions that had closed around them, but when a stake suddenly appeared poised over Lilia's heart, he reacted without being conscious of it. "No!” he shouted as he stepped forward toward Lilia and her murderous Sire, freezing when growls and a few menacing gestures came from the circle around them. "No?” Nathanael echoed, smiling faintly and disregarding Vincent's movement. “Is that the best you can do to convince me?" It was clear to Vincent now that it was all just a game, one of these diversions his books said Nathanael was so fond of, and that whatever he did, whatever he said, his chances—and Lilia's—to survive the night were slim at best, and more likely nonexistent. But every second he played along was a little more time for Lilia to shake off the thrall. He knew it was possible to do, not easy but possible, and if anyone could do it, it had to be Lilia. He had never known anyone as strong as she was. And if he could only see her again, the real Lilia and not the puppet that was oblivious to the stake pressed to her chest, just one more time, just long enough to tell her... "Please." The word tasted like ashes, but Vincent managed to utter it again. “Please don't kill her." "You mean, don't kill you, right?” Nathanael asked, sounding almost bored now. “Because at the instant she's dust, your days are numbered, you know that, don't you? Of course you do." "Yes I know that. But no, that's not what I mean. I said don't kill her, and I mean exactly that." "Yousaid ?” Nathanael's eyes lit up with a dangerous flame. “Sounded to me like you were begging more than demanding."

"I begged,” Vincent conceded. “And I'll beg again if that's what you want.” He clenched his fists so tight that his nails were digging into his palms, and he idly wondered if all the vampires around him would smell the blood welling up in the crescent-shaped cuts. "Begging for a vampire's life. Why, Mister Jordan, I might almost believe that you care about her more than you do about your own life. It's almost ... poignant. And rather ironic, too, considering your chosen profession." Whatever Nathanael expected, Vincent didn't give it to him this time and remained quiet, his eyes still searching Lilia's vacant ones for a glimmer of recognition. "Well, if you want her that much...” Nathanael finally withdrew the stake, and Vincent fought not to let out a sigh. “...you can have her. It would be overly cruel of me to keep Mates from each other." It was too easy, Vincent thought as he watched Nathanael's arm uncurl and let go of Lilia's waist. There had to be a catch. He was proved right when three words were murmured in Lilia's ear, just loud enough for him to hear them too. "Kill him, Childe." Her eyes, which had been so dull until then, suddenly seemed to light up with a murderous fire even as her lips pursed in a mockery of smile. "Yes, Sire,” she murmured, and leapt in Vincent's direction. Startled, Vincent remained frozen in place, hoping with every fiber of his being that it was a ploy, that she had only been waiting for her chance to escape Nathanael's grip and now that she had, they were going to fight back to back, get rid of all the vamps around them together, and... The taste of blood in his mouth, his own blood, spilled by an unforgiving blow from Lilia's hand, put an abrupt end to his hope and he realized that if he didn't fight back, she would soon do exactly what Nathanael had told her to—kill him. Reflexes took over and he reached for the stake in his jacket, his eyes never leaving her. He had seen that dancing flame in her eyes before, as well as the hunger reflected in her features. He had battled this Lilia repeatedly during the past seven years. It was the fighter who was determined to kill him, but wanted to do so after having had her fun. The vampire who had marked him as hers with the tip of a blade the first time they had met, digging into his cheek before laughing as she had promised to kill him another time. She attacked again. Her hands were bare whereas he had a stake, but he was the one retreating under each of her blows, parrying without striking back, unable to raise a hand on her. "Lilia, you're under a thrall,” he said urgently even as he was backing away from her. “You've got to shake it off and be yourself again." She didn't reply and continued attacking. She feinted an attack on the right but shifted at the last second to her left, her foot catching Vincent's side where he had been evading. "If you kill me you will die! Come on, Lilia. You've got to remember!"

There still wasn't any recognition in her eyes; it almost looked as though she wasn't hearing what he was saying. The thought came to Vincent that he might soon have to decide whether to let her kill him or kill her himself, but he refused to even consider it. She would shake off the thrall. He knew she would be able to. All he had to do was keep trying to reach to her, and stay out ofher reach. It was almost like a dance. Vincent retreated, always cautious not to get too close to the vampires standing in a rough circle around them, and Lilia advanced, occasionally jumping for his throat but always with that half second that allowed him to escape, attacking and hitting him but not hard enough to deliver a lethal blow. Not a dance, Vincent realized suddenly. A game. The same game she had played with him so often before, keeping him alive just a little longer to have some more fun with him. It just was that much more obvious when he wasn't fighting back. And he wasn't the only one who had noticed. "Enough, Lilia,” a strong voice chimed from somewhere behind her. “Stop playing and get to the kill. Now." She didn't bat an eyelash before obeying, and this time when she attacked Vincent couldn't parry, couldn't evade, couldn't doanything , and before he knew what had happened he was flat on his back, Lilia descending on him, and her fangs were visible as she plunged toward his neck. And stopped inches from it when the stake Vincent was holding at her heart started pressing into her flesh.

Chapter 20 With Lilia poised over him, ready to bite and held back only by the stake pressed to her chest, Vincent was so conflicted that he had to close his eyes for a second and try to focus. He had hoped with all his heart that it wouldn't come down to this, but here they were, and the choice could wait no longer. He had feinted and dodged as long as he could in front of her, but now he couldn't run any longer, and judging by how still she was, she wasn't about to retreat either. Stalemate. His first thought was to let her do it. It had been too long since he had been near her and it felt as though every cell of his body was crying out for her, for her touch, and if he couldn't have her any other way, her biting him would do. It was almost difficult to remember that it hadn't happened again since their Mating; he had offered his neck to her so many times in his dreams, how bad could it be to do it for real? Opposing that thought, honed by eight years of fighting vampires, thousands of fights, and dozens of narrow escapes, instinct demanded that he stake her before it was too late. It wouldn't take much, only a slight push of his hand upward, the small resistance of fabric and flesh for a second before they tore away and the wood slipped in almost too easily. He had done it thousands of times since becoming a Special Enforcer; it would be just one more kill, one he had promised to himself seven years earlier over Peter's body. Just a slight push and it would be over. Over for her, but also, sooner rather than later, for him too. With both options, his life was at stake, but only with the first could he give Lilia one last opportunity to come back to her senses and put an end to this nightmare. He owed her as much for the past weeks she had spent fighting by his side. He inhaled deeply and then took a chance, and pulled the stake away, letting it rest harmlessly on his chest between them. She hesitated for a second but quickly lowered her mouth, plunging for his neck, and he took another, even bigger, chance. Tilting his head to one side, he brought his hand to the back of her head and his mouth up to her neck.

"Together,” he murmured, and made the silent wish that she would remember their Mating, remember that it was what she had said then just before they had marked each other, and that this memory, if nothing else, would break through the barrier of the thrall. And because he couldn't wait any longer, he finally said it. “I love you." He knew he had failed, knew he was dead when she didn't slow, and instead, sank her fangs into his neck without waiting for him. He bit back, more a reflex now than a conscious act, his teeth digging in hard enough that he tasted blood on his tongue, and was brought back instantly to the night they had Mated. He had been half erect all through their fight, as he had been so many times in the past when they had fought, simply because she looked breathtaking when she was entirely focused on something—on him. Now his cock was painfully hard and his hips jerked up and pressed against her in search of one last contact. Whether it was the feel of him, the taste of his blood or the shock of being bitten, it seemed that Lilia remembered too; he felt her stop sucking, just like, months earlier, she had limited herself to a mouthful of his blood. She froze against him, becoming utterly still, and, trembling, he let go of her neck after placing a small kiss to the scar he had broken anew. "That's it,” he whispered, his voice raw and broken by the tension. “You remember, don't you? Go ahead, Lilia, look at me. Tell me you remember. Please." Her head shifted minutely until he could see her eyes, and the absolute confusion within them. He wanted to laugh at seeing the thrall broken at last, at seeing her on her way back to him, but he was afraid it would startle her. "Vincent?” she uttered, the word uncertain, as though she weren't sure it was the right name. He slid his hand through her hair to cup her cheek. “Yes, darling. It's me and it's going to be OK." She blinked several times, and her eyes seemed to grow clear with each blink. “What happened?” she asked. “I don't..." The sound of slow clapping interrupted her, and Vincent remembered suddenly they had company at the same time as Lilia discovered it. Caught up in the memory, he could almost have believed that they were back to being alone, back to their Mating night. Lower parts of his anatomy thankfully got the message too, and returned some much needed blood to his brain. "Isn't this touching,” a sneering voice commented from behind them, and Lilia's eyes widened in horror as she scrambled off Vincent and to her feet. He stood too, stake ready in his hand again, and positioned himself between her and Nathanael who continued his little speech, unconcerned. "Love triumphs over all and everything else that goes with it. Really, if it wasn't so trite, I would shed a tear." The mocking in his voice sounded real, but all it took was a look to his face to realize that the vampire had not expected this particular turn of events and did not like the surprise. He was very badly concealing his rage.

"Looks to me like your little game failed,” Vincent shot back, and added with a smirk, “You might want to practice your thrall; it seems to be a bit weak." He felt almost lightheaded at seeing Lilia back to herself when earlier she had been so close to killing him. Everything would be fine, now. He had the feeling he could have taken all the vampires in the world by himself. "The goal was to get you killed,” Nathanael shrugged. “I'm not very picky about who does it or how, as long as you end up dead and stop messing with my affairs." With a snap of his fingers, some of the vampires who had only been watching so far stepped forward, fangs bared and gleaming. The effect was the same as a cold shower on Vincent's hopes. Everything would be fine, and he could have taken all the vampires in the world. Before that, though, he would need to deal with the circle of unfriendly vamps surrounding him and Lilia. **** Lilia could have moaned in pleasure when her fangs sank into the human's flesh, and if she heard his words, she didn't pause to think of what they meant. She couldn't remember the last time she had had a real meal, one that hadn't left her craving for more; and she was going to savor this one to the last drop, killing him as her Sire had told her to. Maybe, then, her Sire wouldn't be so upset with her anymore; maybe he would even tell her what she had done to upset him. It was so generous and kind of him to give her a chance to prove herself worthy of him by killing one of his worst enemies. She would have to remember to thank him properly. She hoped she would remember; it was so often hard to think at all lately. The taste of blood, when it hit her tongue, stirred something in her, a memory at the edge of her consciousness, something that would elude her if she tried to reach for it, but that would come toward her if she only let it. She didn't have time to decide which she would do, because the human bit her—a human! Biting her!—and a barrier broke in her head, letting her memories, feelings and thoughts flow free. Lettingher be free. Everything flooded her mind in a terribly confusing mess, and she froze, unsure of where she was and what she was doing. Then a voice broke through the haze.His voice. "That's it. You remember, don't you? Go ahead, Lilia, look at me. Tell me you remember. Please." She could feel him, now, feel his body against her, hard and hot and so familiar she wanted to curl against him until the world became a hospitable place again. But she obeyed his request and turned her face to look at him, and as she did some pieces of the puzzle that was her memory fell into place. "Vincent?" Was that his name? She could remember calling him something else, maybe she was wrong and... The touch against her cheek, as gentle as his words, calmed her rising doubts. “Yes, darling. It's me and it's going to be OK." The fog was slowly rising and clearing her mind and thoughts, but she still couldn't figure out what was

going on. Images and disembodied words kept flashing through her mind in no particular order, giving her a bad feeling about what was going on but nothing precise enough for her to understand. “What happened? I don't..." Slow clapping sounded behind her, and Lilia frowned in confusion. When the voice rose however, the fog lifted from her mind and in an instant, she was up and ready to defend herself despite the pain that flared through her body; ready to defend Vincent, too, although he remained oblivious to her resolve and stepped in front of her as though to protect her. Didn't he know whom they were facing? "Isn't this touching. Love triumphs over all and everything else that goes with it. Really, if it wasn't so trite, I would shed a tear." His sarcasm barely hid Nathanael's anger, and Lilia was scrambling through her still slightly blurry mind for an answer, something that would appease him, give her and Vincent a chance, maybe, to survive the night. But before she could say a word, Vincent spoke, and she soon wanted little more than to kick him. Hard. "Looks to me like your little game failed. You might want to practice your thrall; it seems to be a bit weak." Lilia had heard Vincent mouth off often enough in the past when he fought vampires—he had done it when he had fought against her—but she winced at his words. It was one thing to taunt a vampire you were battling one on one. Quite another to piss off a Master who currently had fifteen minions waiting for the order to attack. Surprisingly, Nathanael's anger didn't appear to grow at Vincent's comment; he practically shrugged it off. His words however belied his casual tone. "The goal was to get you killed. I'm not very picky about who does it or how, as long as you end up dead and stop messing with my affairs." A snap of his fingers gave the minions the signal they had been waiting for. Immediately, the circle broke and vampires stepped forward, most of whom she knew; but before the fight could begin, a rough hand clasped her waist and Vincent pulled her to him. "Be careful,” he said as he pressed a stake into her hand and a quick kiss to her lips. The next second, they were fighting three adversaries each and separated by a few feet; and Lilia was left ranting at him in her head when she became too busy to be able to do it aloud. Be careful? I'm not the one pissing off Nathanael right before a fight! What was that about, Jordan? Feeling invincible suddenly? Trying to prove you belong to the big boys club? I am so going to kick your ass when this is over. If we're both still alive. Her internal rant took on a gloomy tone when realization slowly dawned on her that the fight wasn't going as well as it should have. The three vampires who had come forward to fight her were attacking relentlessly, with fists, feet and stakes, and she pushed back after each attack. She was struggling to defend herself and not get herself killed, and never getting anywhere close to being able to strike at her adversaries. Granted, one of them was Alexei who had far more experience, training and skills at fighting than the minions, but she had

always been better than him, always beaten him when they sparred, and now he was practically playing with her, like a cat playing with a mouse. It wouldn't have been so bad if not for her back. It was nothing but pain, and it seemed that the throbbing she hadn't felt while under the thrall had been freed now. She tried to ignore it, but it was far from easy when with every movement she made she could feel a cut open again and begin to soak the back of her shirt with blood. Added to that, the tiredness from having fought with Vincent was combining with the fatigue of having been under a thrall; even if she hadn't broken free until exchanging blood with her Mate had dissolved the hold Nathanael had on her, she had struggled against it all along, and it had weakened her, body and spirit. She wouldn't hold long, she realized. If a miracle didn't happen soon, she was going to get herself staked. And condemn Vincent to death at the same time. The thing was, she had long ago realized that miracles didn't happen to help vampires. **** "OK, Vince, I know you asked me to stay out of it, but I don't think I have much of a choice here. You can yell at me if we all survive this." There was no answer to Don's remark; he was too far from the action, almost directly across the pond from it, for anyone to have even heard him. However, he wasn't too far to distinguish, with the help of the full moon's light, between the shadowy figures battling a couple hundred yards away. Two of these, he had to try not to hurt. The others were fair game. He only wished he had had the occasion to practice his fire-throwing trick more often. He had hesitated until now about intervening, because he had recognized Lilia as Vincent's adversary and killing her would have been the same as killing him. But something had happened, and now she was no longer fighting against him, but with him. And they looked like they really could use some help with so many vampires around them. He started with one of the minions standing on the side, waiting for its turn to jump into the fight. A few murmured words, and a ball of fire was flying toward the oblivious vampire, striking him in the back; within seconds, it was dust. Ducking his head to completely disappear behind the large rock that protected him, Don slowly refocused his strength before peeking out again and choosing another target. He didn't dare shoot directly at the vampires that were in a hand-to-hand fight with Vincent and Lilia, they moved too much for him to take the risk of striking the wrong target, but he could at least thin the herd of those waiting to take a shot at them. He wished he could have taken a shot a Nathanael—or at least, the vampire he thought was Nathanael—but he stood on the other side of the fights, and by trying to strike him Don might have hurt Lilia or Vincent. Still, the less they had to fight, the more chances they had to come out of it alive—or undead, in Lilia's case. And Don really needed Vincent alive. If nothing else, there was just no other person he could imagine standing by him as his best man on his wedding day.

Chapter 21 Vincent knew, roughly, how many vampires were around him and Lilia, but he forced himself not to think about it, even more importantly not to keep a tally. If he did, he might freeze; but as long as he ignored how many more were left to stake, he could do it. One vamp at a time, as he did every night, as he had

done for years. No need to worry how many of them were left, no reason to think that the fangs they bared at him would tear his flesh, no way he would start fearing the fire in their eyes. Now if they would only continue not to attack all at once, it would suit him quite well. As it was, three was already bordering on too many. His courage returned with a brilliant flash of light, a small ball of fire that had lit up a sidelined vamp like a roman candle and turned it to ash in seconds. The others looked around, searching for the source, but apparently could not find anything as another vamp went up into flames only a couple of minutes later. That was two for Don, since it was undoubtedly his magical fire, to Vincent's one kill so far. As for Lilia... He stole glances at her whenever he could throughout his fight. With three adversaries of her own, she was fighting hard, or at least defending herself, but she wasn't at the top of her game. While the other vamps struck without reserve and made contact—there was blood trickling from the corner of her mouth and from a cut on her cheek—she seemed slower than usual when she evaded a blow, clumsier when she tried to strike in return. She had been fighting a lot better against him minutes earlier. He wondered briefly if her mind was still a mess after being under thrall, then caught a glimpse of her back as she spun around. The sight froze him where he stood. Her shirt was sticking to her back, turned almost black by blood. At that instant, she glanced toward him, and her eyes widened in fear. “Vincent!” she shouted. “Behind you!" He turned just in time to raise his stake and, more by chance than conscious design, struck the chest of the vampire that had been leaping for his throat. It crumbled to ash in front of him, but he didn't wait for a second and took the opportunity of having only two adversaries to attack before another vampire joined in. The female vampire he chose clearly hadn't expected his move, and her second of surprise was enough for him to slip past the short dagger she had used to slash his arm in two places to find her heart. The dust hadn't yet settled before two more vampires stepped forward. Vincent glanced at Lilia where she was still struggling. They had too many adversaries for him to stand in front of her and allow her to stay out of the battle, even if she had allowed him to do that. She wasn't the kind to watch a fight from the sidelines without joining in if she could help. But that didn't mean he couldn't give her a hand. He worked his way closer to her, as he fought, and did what he could to have his opponents get in the way of hers. Not the easiest thing to manage when you were trying to remain alive, but that was the best he could do. The best, until Nathanael's voice rose, furious and cutting in the night, right after a new ball of fire had set another vampire ablaze. "Alexei! Take a few minions and find that damn wizard before he takes all of us. Try to turn him if you can." One of the vamps that had been fighting Lilia broke off; he had gathered others and they had started running off before Vincent could think of a way to warn off Don. Things were not looking good. And even less so when Nathanael gave his next order. "Leave her to me. Keep the human away from us. And stop playing with him and get to the kill, I'm getting tired of this."

The four remaining vampires obeyed instantly and, standing between Vincent and Lilia, started pushing him back and away from her and Nathanael. Tired as he was, and with four adversaries now instead of three, he was in for a difficult fight. Yet it was Lilia he was worried for as blows started to fall. **** From where he was, it took Don a few seconds to understand what was going on. At first, it seemed that the vampires were merely changing their positions, and trying a new tactic to fight Vincent and Lilia. Soon it became clear that a group of vampires had broken off from the fight completely, and, worse, seemed to be running in his direction. The balls of fire left trails behind them as they shot from his hands, trails that were all too clear in the dark, and he had known he would get attention; he had just hoped it wouldn't come so fast. His first instinct was to listen to his rising panic and run. Even if he had had a stake, he didn't stand a chance against the five vampires running toward him so fast they almost seemed to fly. Don knew vampires couldn't fly, that it was only a myth, but it didn't stop his heart from beating hard enough to break out of his chest, nor did it stop the cold sweat rolling down his back. It would be over in a minute if he was lucky, and in a lot longer than that if he were not. But he could see, behind the approaching vamps, that Vincent was still fighting, and not giving up despite odds that weren't in his favor either. It had been something he had always admired, even envied, in his friend; once he started something, he went through with it, however hard it might be. That was why Vincent had continued fighting after Peter's death, while Don had retreated behind the bookshop and his growing responsibilities there. Maybe it was time for Don to properly honor the pact he had made almost eight years earlier along with Vincent and Peter. He had never refused Vincent his help over the years, but he had always known he could have done far more. After all, he suddenly realized, he had something much better than a stake. A stake could only kill one vampire at a time, and only if he was close, whereas the fire he summoned could take down several of them at a distance, if he aimed carefully enough. He didn't have time to think about it too long, not when they were getting closer with each disappearing second. There were five of them, fairly spread out, but if he could just manage to take them two at a time before they reached him, he might make the odds turn in his favor. The fire left his fingertips and rushed toward the group; Don cursed under his breath when they easily scattered in front of the incoming threat and avoided it. Of course, he should have anticipated that. So far, he had struck the vamps from behind; it would be considerably more difficult to do while they faced him, unless they were too close to jump out of the way. Fear returned, stronger than before, but more at the sudden turn his thoughts had taken than at the sight of the approaching vamps. It was an insane idea. Completely insane but it might just be insane enough to work. Hiding behind the rocks again, he retreated as far as he could into the depression formed by two of the boulders where they met at their base. A vamp would have little problem getting to him where he was, but only one would be able to reach into his hiding place. And if, with a little luck, the others were close enough behind... "Hiding?” a mocking voice taunted even as the vampires appeared. “You reek of fear so much, you

could be on the other side of the town and we'd still smell you. Come on out, now. If you play nice, you might not die completely tonight. Our Master wants a new toy." For a second, Don closed his eyes; the fear had always been there that he might get killed while working with Vincent, or that he might get his friend killed, but he had never considered he could get turned. He had never allowed himself to consider it. "If you want me, you'll have to come and get me." His voice trembled, thick with his barely controlled panic, but there was little he could do about that and in the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the words he murmured under his breath, and the warmth slowly building in each of his palms; it was trickier to do it twice in a short period of time, but his options were too limited to hesitate now. A vamp approached, fangs gleaming as they caught the light of the moon while its eyes burned with an internal fire, but Don ignored the sight, ignored his instinctive reaction which was to yell for help, and concentrated instead on the fire that would soon consume the creature in front of him, and those standing just a step back. Either that, or he was dead. The first ball of fire left his hand just as the vampire reached for him; Don could feel on his face the heat of the fire spreading over its clothes before the vamp stumbled back and into a couple of his fangy friends. It crumbled to ashes just as Don was launching his second attack. He wasn't sure how many vamps were touched; he hoped all of them were burning, but he couldn't be sure without looking, and it was more important to focus and get ready to fire again than to count how many vampires were still standing. **** Her back throbbed with pain with each movement, but Lilia was all too conscious of what was at stake with this fight to let the pain affect her. It had been easier under the thrall; nothing had been important save for her Sire's orders, and she truly hadn't felt pain as she fought Vincent. Now she did, and it was excruciating. Still, if she allowed the pain to rule her, if she slipped now, she would die, and condemn Vincent. So she couldn't slip, it was as easy as that. She was aware of the way he tried to help her, as they battled side-by-side; aware, also, that there were still many vampires around them, waiting for their chance to attack and kill. She vaguely remembered Nathanael rewarding Alexei for having captured her by inviting him and all of his minions to the show while the rest of the clan remained in the lair. It had to be about fifteen of them. Too many. She would never last that long. Yet, she had to. She couldn't fail Vincent. Things changed with a few barked orders. Several vampires ran off to fight with a wizard—Don, she supposed—and suddenly Lilia only had one fighter opposite her instead of three. It would have been an improvement, if it hadn't happened to be Nathanael. The thought threatened to overwhelm her and make her give up, but a glimpse of Vincent as he was pushed back away from her brought the fire of the fight back and roaring in her veins. Nathanael had thralled her, as though she had been nothing more than a minion or human to play with rather than his own Childe. He had thralled her, and tried to make her kill her Mate. She attacked with a snarl and energy she would have sworn only a minute earlier she didn't have.

Nathanael seemed briefly astonished that she had attacked first, but he regained his focus quickly enough and growled at her. They started exchanging blows in silence. It wasn't like either of them to remain quiet, they were both used to taunting and distracting their adversaries with words, and so Lilia wasn't surprised when he finally spoke up, his voice almost mocking. "You would try to kill me, Lilia?" She spun and launched herself forward, her right foot directed toward Nathanael's middle. He jumped back at the very last second, managing to avoid her. "You have no problem with the idea of killing me,” she retorted. Just as she regained her footing, he was upon her again. She parried his stake with her own and they broke apart once more. "Ah, but there's a difference, darling. Sires can kill their Childer when they misbehave." Punches on both parts, a couple of kicks; they jumped back and started circling each other. Lilia could remember dozens, hundreds of times when they had done this very same thing in the past. The first time had been mere days after he had turned her; the last one, days before she and Vincent had become Mates. Nevertheless, every single one of these occasions, it had only been a training exercise. Nathanael had wanted her to be as good a fighter as he was, and he had put a lot of energy into her teaching. He had wanted the perfect Childe; she had suspected for a long time already what a disappointment she had been in that regard. She didn't know what she had done, or not done, to displease him, but the simple fact that he had made other Childer after her was proof enough. "Death is the ultimate punishment,” he continued, and she could hear the repressed anger of a frustrated Sire in each of his words. “But it is no more than that. Punishment. The right of any Sire." He stopped circling suddenly, straightened, even smiled. He was always at his most dangerous when he was the most confident, and she didn't let her guard down. "Childer don't kill their Sires, Lilia. That's the one taboo of our culture, and you're too much of a vampire to break it." His words slowly sank in, reaching the deepest level of her mind, and she lowered her arms before nodding. She had never thought about it in so many words, but what he was saying made too much sense for comfort. She was a vampire, even when she broke the rules, even when she played as a rogue knight for the other side of the chessboard. Yet, she still couldn't put her own king in checkmate. "You're right,” she acknowledged. “I never could." She had the time, before she closed her eyes, to see him grin in satisfaction and ready his blow. Time also to see, behind him, that Vincent had broken free from the four remaining vampires he was fighting and was running toward Nathanael, his arm raised and ready to strike down. But she refused to see her lover—her love, her Mate—turn her Sire to ashes and she kept her eyes tightly shut. She didn't watch Nathanael die, but she felt it, in her mind and body, and it was like a stab to the guts, so painful that she wrapped her arms around herself. She heard also the shouts suddenly rising in the night, and she knew they were those of the remaining minions, who had just seen the head of their clan crumble to ashes. It had to be frightening to them, when everything they were, everything they did had been directly influenced by Nathanael until that instant. It was only a small comfort to Lilia that she had freed herself from his rule before he had died.

She wondered, briefly, whether the minions would fight even harder now, and try to avenge their lost Master, or run for their lives until the shock had subsided. In their place, if it had been anyone but Vincent, she knew she would have fought to the death. But she had been Nathanael's Childe; they were nothing more than minions. The feather touch of warm fingertips brushed the tears that had rolled down her face without her taking notice, and she opened her eyes. "Is it over?” she heard herself ask. "Yes, he's gone, they're all gone,” Vincent murmured, so close now that his words were a caress over her cheek. She leaned into him, wincing when he wrapped his arms around her back and pressed against her wounds before jerking back, but relishing the contact nonetheless. "Did you mean it?" The question had been lurking at the back of her mind ever since she had struggled free from the thrall, and now that they were safe, she had to ask, had to know, even if it meant having her heart broken. He seemed to understand right away what she was referring to. "I love you,” he repeated his earlier pledge, his words filled to the brim with an emotion that only proved them true. Smiling beneath her tears, she pressed her lips to his, then proceeded to let the pain and sheer exhaustion take hold of her, and allowed herself to pass out, knowing he would catch her.

Chapter 22 As careful as he was, Vincent still winced as his fingers made contact with Lilia's skin; he applied the salve gently, following a shallow cut. Just as he was finishing, she shivered slightly, alarming him. "Does it hurt?" She appeared to be asleep still, but whether as an answer to Vincent's words or to his touch, she let out a quiet, almost mewling sound that didn't seem at all like an expression of pain. "I'll take that as a no, then,” Vincent murmured, more to himself than to her, and plunged his fingers into the jar again, coating them with more salve than he had on his cautious first try. The ointment was thick and he had been afraid that rubbing it in the cuts that covered her back might cause more pain than he was willing to inflict on Lilia. But the substance had practically dissolved upon touching her skin, seeping into the wound and leaving an oily feel behind, and the cut he had been treating had visibly healed, right under his eyes. There was no denying that Don knew what he was doing. Despite the rant Don had inflicted on him, he had been very grateful when his friend had brought the remedy to him, only hours after they had taken Lilia home; seeing the state of Lilia's back and not knowing what to do had nearly killed him. He still couldn't grasp how she had managed to fight—that

well or that long—with that sort of pain eating at her. Making his touch as gentle as possible, he brought his fingers to the center of her back and carefully applied the healing salve. There were so many red slashes covering her from her shoulders to the back of her thighs that he had hesitated before choosing a spot where to begin, finally picking the place where so many slashes met that they were almost indistinguishable from each other. He knelt by her side on the bed and applied the ointment slowly, attentive to Lilia's small movements and quiet noises. She had been dozing on and off since he had taken her out of the bath and carefully carried her to the mezzanine, but now she seemed to be awakening. "What're you doing?” she mumbled, turning her face toward him but keeping her eyes closed. "Taking care of you,” he answered just as quietly. “Your back is hurt pretty bad." The sound she muffled in the pillow could have been a groan of pain, but it sounded much more like a snort. "That's nothing. Been hurt much more than that before. That one time in Moscow, he..." Vincent didn't really want to know about Moscow, didn't want to imagine anything worse than this, but before he could say so, she fell silent. He looked at her face, or what he could see of it amongst the pillows and rumpled hair. He couldn't read any emotions on her features. Had she fallen asleep again? "Lilia?” he whispered, gathering more salve on his curled fingers and starting to apply it, this time to her shoulder. “You asleep?" "No. Just thinking." Her voice was strangely blank, and Vincent began to reflect on what he knew she was thinking. He was rather certain Nathanael had caused her injuries, the ones in front of him as well as the ones in Moscow she had been about to mention. "Thinking about what?” he asked, feigning ignorance and casualness, both very badly. "I felt him die,” she replied, so quiet he might not have heard the words if he hadn't been just above her. “I knew I would, I mean, that's one of the things about a vamp being a Childe rather than just a minion, but it still surprised me. I can almost feel the void he left behind. It's very ... peculiar." For a moment, Vincent remained quiet, the calm of his hand as he spread the salve completely at odds with the chaotic thoughts in his mind. He could see, as though it were still happening in front of him, Lilia ceasing to fight and closing her eyes as Nathanael had been about to stake her, as he, Vincent, had prepared to stake him. Had she conceded to her imminent death at the hand of the one who had made her, or had she been refusing to watch her Sire die? "I had to do it,” he said at last, hating that his voice was trembling with nervousness about how she would reply. When had he ever wanted before to justify himself for killing a vampire? “If I hadn't, he would have killed you, and I..." For the first time, her eyes opened, and she raised her head from the pillow, just enough to look at him.

"I know. I'm not blaming you for it. Just saying ... it feels weird. That's all." Vincent answered with a lopsided smile before returning his whole attention to what he was doing. Lilia's head sank back down to the pillow, and she relaxed under his touch, the tension in her body slowly melting away. Vincent was done with her right side from the middle of her back to her shoulder and he carefully shifted on the bed to kneel on the other side of her body. "We're not in my mausoleum,” she commented after a few minutes of silence, turning her head toward him even though she kept her eyes closed. It wasn't a question, and she had probably figured out where they were, but he answered nonetheless. “My place." "First time I've been here since..." "Our Mating,” he finished for her when she paused. “I just thought it would be easier to take care of you here." "I would have healed on my own, you know. A few days of rest and blood and I'd have been as good as new." He wanted to object and point out that, left alone, it would have taken more than a few days for her back to heal completely, but he could guess that it wasn't really what they were discussing here. "I wanted to help,” he admitted. “Wanted to have you here with me." Her eyes opened for a brief instant and she smiled. “OK then." She was silent again after that, and Vincent realized she had fallen asleep. He continued to apply the salve, moving down her body to her lower back, ass, and thighs. There wasn't much left in the jar when the last of the cuts closed and paled; he gathered all of what remained and spread it over her whole back one last time, massaging her flesh now rather than carefully applying the ointment. At last he was done, and pulled the sheet up to cover her, before laying down against her, the side of his body gently touching the side of hers, and for the first time since they had argued, since she had disappeared, he fell asleep in seconds and didn't wake until Lilia had decided he had slept enough. **** When Lilia awakened, feeling refreshed for the first time since being kidnapped, she found a warm body pressed along hers and a possessive arm curled around her back. She knew who it was, could have recognized the touch anywhere, but she took a deep breath, taking in Vincent's scent and letting it soothe her. She then made sure to remain completely still, unwilling to chase him away by moving, but after a moment, she couldn't help herself and had to turn her head on the pillow to look at him. His face was just inches from hers, so relaxed in sleep that for a little while she just observed him, letting her eyes follow the pale line down and across his cheek, and almost wishing—almost—that she could kiss the scar away and erase what it meant. It felt as though she had put it there a lifetime ago, rather than a few years, and maybe it was true that they were different people now. So much had happened to them, between them, that the memory of their first fight seemed almost unreal. In the end, she couldn't help it, and brought a finger to trace the mark as delicately as she knew how.

Humans were such fragile creatures. Vincent's eyelashes fluttered open under the touch. Words of regret rose to her lips, but he spoke before she could utter them. "I could have gotten rid of it, you know." She raised an eyebrow, and he continued. “There are magic ointments for this kind of injury. The docs offered to use it on me when I went to have it stitched up. Same kind of stuff I put on your back, I suppose." "And you didn't take them up on it?" "I almost did. But in the end I decided not to. I figured it would be a reminder of what you were capable of. A reminder of what you had done to Peter. And a reminder of my promise to stake you." A bitter smile rose to her lips. “Didn't work so well, did it?" "I guess not,” he admitted. She had no answer so she remained quiet, closing her eyes again and pulling her hand away from his face as she retreated into her mind and thoughts. Things were finally clear, all her memories in place, but there was still a blurry note. She wasn't sure why she even was in Vincent's bed. Had he forgotten about their argument? "You're not mad anymore?” she asked when not understanding became even less bearable than the idea that he may still be. "About Peter?" It hadn't even occurred to her that he might still hold a grudge about that, and she remained silent, unsure what she could say that wouldn't make things worse. "We were young. Inexperienced. We thought we were invincible. It would have been another vamp, if it hadn't been you." There was a thread of guilt running through his voice, and another time she might have pushed things further; at that moment however, something else mattered more. "Mad about anything else?" He didn't answer until she had opened her eyes. The incongruous thought crossed her mind that he was so close she could have counted his eyelashes. "I promised myself if we got out of it alive I'd let you explain.” He paused for a second, and his voice was just a hair thicker with tension when he added: “If there's anything you'd like to explain." Was there? It felt as though it had been decades ago that she had decided she needed a new lover to try to forget Vincent. Did it still matter, now? She was in his bed, he had saved her, taken care of her; he couldn't still be as upset as he had been. "For what it's worth,” he said when she had kept quiet for a few seconds, “I didn't follow you that night. I went to On The Edge to hunt. I never expected to see you there. Never expected to see you with

someone else either." There was too much hurt in his tone and on his face, even though he tried hard to hide them, and Lilia suddenly felt cold, colder than she had in a long time. Without thinking, she slid closer to him, pressing the length of her body to his and wishing no bed sheet or clothes had been between them. She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder where she wouldn't be able to see his disappointment, then, she told him. "I am a vampire,” she started, her voice no louder than a murmur. “Nothing you do will ever change that. And when you pretend I'm something different, it's like ... like a slap to my face." "I didn't..." Her hand tightened where she held his shirt and he stopped talking. "I tried ignoring it,” she continued, even more quietly now if that was possible, “but it was too much. It came to the point where I had to do something to remind myself and even remind you what I am and what it means." She paused for an instant and took a deep breath, breathing in his scent before she continued, her voice a little louder now. “I went to three clubs that night. I wanted to pick up a body to fuck and maybe feed from. Anyone would have done the trick, but I kept finding men who looked just like you. It made me so mad at myself ... I had to force myself to choose one that was nothing like you." Vincent was perfectly still against her, and Lilia found that she regretted now not being able to see him and what he thought of what she was saying. "Nothing happened,” she rushed to the end of her story. “I went back home alone. I couldn't even manage to kiss anyone who wasn't you, let alone do anything more than kiss." Now came the hard part, and Lilia steeled herself. “If you want to pretend, I'll let you pretend. I love you enough to close my eyes and take whatever I can have from you. Just ... just don't ask me to play at being human." Having told much more than she had intended to, Lilia fell silent again and waited. He had let her talk without interrupting after his first outburst, and the only reaction he had given had been to tense for an instant when she had confessed she had not slept with anyone else. His silence and stillness were a little unnerving, and with each passing second Lilia's fear only grew that she had ruined everything, that her words had upset him as much as seeing her with someone else had, almost three weeks earlier. She was certain her thoughts were being confirmed when he pulled away from her and she blinked furiously, unwilling to cry in front of him. She was a century old vampire, not a teenager, and she refused to cry for a man. She simply refused. He didn't leave the bed however; instead, he merely sat up. Under her slightly confused eyes, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, leaving his chest bare. Her gaze was immediately attracted to his neck and the bite marks she had reopened while under the thrall. They had healed again, and were just a little less pale than they usually were, the new skin still tender. Sliding in the bed next to her, he was soon face to face with her again; and at last, he spoke.

"I know what you are, Lilia. I'm not sure what I did to give you the impression I was pretending you were human ... hell, it's not like I ever dated a vampire before, so I suppose I did treat you like a normal girl. I just didn't know how else to act. But I swear I don't want you to be any different. I love you, as you are, vampire and all, and it scares the hell out of me but it's nothing when compared to the idea that I might lose you..." Lilia was still refusing herself the right to cry, although not for the same reasons now. "...and I don't know how else to prove it to you." A gentle, slightly trembling hand caressed her cheek before sliding across her jaw and to the back of her head, and as Lilia allowed him lead her to his neck, one of those damn tears finally rolled down her cheek and slid onto the flesh he was offering to her to bite. **** Vincent had never been good with words. He could use his hands to fight, could ask a question with a look, but when it came to talking, and especially talking to a woman about what hid inside his mind and heart, he always felt stupid. If he could have given Lilia a glance into his soul, she would have known, without the shadow of a doubt, that her fears were groundless, and that he wanted her, loved her, exactly as she was. But all he could do was give her a few insignificant words; that, and the ultimate proof of his trust and love. A drop of water—a tear?—fell right in between the two marks that proclaimed him her Mate, and Vincent shivered. Her lips caressed the same spot, barely touching yet setting all of his body on fire. "Are you sure?” she murmured, almost choking on the words. He wished he could have told her how many times he had dreamed about this, how he couldn't think of a better way to show her that he accepted that she was a vamp, how he hoped that she would see he could hardly have given her anything more than what he was now offering. But all that passed his lips was a word,yes , and it was enough because he was saying yes to her. To them. He felt her fangs rest against his skin, not piercing yet, merely touching, and shuddered at the contact, unconsciously holding Lilia tighter. She seemed to take his movement as his final consent and finally pressed home; her fangs broke in, and he knew, at the incredible sensation of warmth that ran through him, she had bitten through her marks again. She had done the same while under the thrall, but somehow it had felt different then. It hadn't really been her, not his Mate, not the woman he loved, and if the touch had affected his body, it hadn't felt as mind-shattering as it did now. For an instant, she merely remained as she was, immobile with her fangs deep inside him, and Vincent had time to regret not being inside her too, as he had been for their Mating, to savor their double union. When she finally pulled out, it was slowly, carefully, and the sucking he expected and braced himself for didn't come. Instead, she laved the bite with her tongue, cleaning the blood that was rising toward her and slowly tending to the small wounds until they were closed again. "Thank you,” she murmured, her lips still against his skin, and Vincent wanted to say the words right back at her. He didn't, though, not right then, because she had shifted against him and her mouth was now brushing against his, caressing more than kissing, and the time for words had passed. Now was the

time to love.

Epilogue From where he stood, one step behind Don at the foot of the altar, Vincent came to a startling observation. His friend's complexion, as the bridesmaids stepped toward them, had slowly turned a pale green, as though to mirror their dresses’ color. And when Jeanie finally appeared, radiant, and floated toward them, he became almost as white as her dress was. Vincent made a mental note of it, promising himself to tease Don about his chameleon abilities later. The ceremony began, and Vincent's attention slipped away. They had gone through the motions at the rehearsal, and he knew he wouldn't be needed until after the bride's sister had sung. That alone should pull him out of his daydream. Free to roam, his thoughts quickly found their usual path, and merrily skipped toward Lilia. It had been a year, or just a little more, since Jeanie had wrecked what should have been an easy spell by simply pronouncing the word ‘marriage'. A little more than a year since, moments after Jeanie had scared Don half to death, Lilia had proposed. And Vincent had replied with a proposal that had made things so much more complicated. So much more beautiful. A year since they had Mated, but less than that since they had truly found each other, and yet Vincent could barely remember what his life had been like before Lilia. He couldn't imagine waking up alone in his bed, not being around her during the day, not having her by his side when he went to hunt, not having her jokes to laugh at, her lips to kiss, her body to love... And this was probably not the best course for his mind to be taking while in a place of worship with dozens of people looking in his direction. As though summoned by his thoughts, Lilia appeared. For an instant, Vincent was sure he was hallucinating. This was a church, after all, and although it was late in the day, sunset wasn't close; not exactly the most auspicious setting for a vampire. But their eyes met, and he knew then, at the smile that illuminated her face, that she was really there. And it didn't really matter anymore how or why she had come; her presence made everything else trivial. There were empty seats on both sides of the aisle where she could have had a better view, but she remained at the back of the church, close to the entrance. She looked a little uncomfortable, and Vincent tried, with smiles and eye contact, to make her forget where she was. It seemed to work, at least a little, and he couldn't have been happier. Jeanie hadn't seemed particularly happy, when, a few months earlier, Vincent had told her whom he planned to bring as his guest, but judging by her lack of objections, he was certain that Don must have talked to her before he had. She had only requested that neither of them do anything that would inform the other guests that a vampire was amongst them, and Vincent had assured her that Lilia could pass for a human if she chose to. Which apparently was the case, because the red dress she was wearing, while cut high enough to make her legs seem endless and tightly clinging to her every curves, completely covered both sides of her neck and the marks there, her Sire's bite on one side, her Mate's on the other. And unless he was mistaken and it was a trick of the light or distance, her cheeks held more color than they usually did.

Don lightly clearing his throat suddenly caught Vincent's attention, and his cheeks were suddenly on fire when he realized he had missed his cue. His hand flew to his pocket, then out again when he realized it was the wrong one. A little more fumbling and he could finally give Don the wedding rings, carefully avoiding looking him in the eye, or worse Jeanie, as he did so. The ceremony started again, the exchanges of vows taking the attention away from him, and Vincent breathed a quiet sigh. When he dared a look back toward the entrance of the church, Lilia had a hand over her mouth, and he could have sworn she was stifling a laugh. Evil, evil vampire. He would show her. In a couple of hours, she might not be laughing so much. **** Being in a church felt extremely weird to Lilia. She hadn't been in one since she had been turned, yet somehow when she passed the door she almost reached into the holy water font before realizing that it might not be the best idea. After a hundred and seventy odd years, she was puzzled, for an instant, about the resurgence of the old forgotten habit, but she let go of that thought after catching Vincent's eyes. He looked surprised to see her there, she hadn't been supposed to show up until nightfall at the reception; an overcast sky and Jeanie's not particularly enthusiastic but seemingly sincere invitation had prompted her to show up early. Unwilling to test if she would be able to walk any closer to the large cross looming behind the happy couple, she remained at the back of the church, standing near the wall, hands clasped behind her back. The service was not overly religious, for which she was thankful, but she wasn't paying much attention to it anyway. She was grateful to Don for having helped her and Vincent, but she wouldn't have come if not for her Mate. And it was worth the goose bumps over her skin and the internal flinch every time her eyes fell on the cross just to see him beam at her over the room. Despite her lack of attention, she realized something was wrong when silence fell over the church and all faces turned toward Vincent. She realized what was happening at the same time as he did, and barely managed to suppress a laugh that threatened to pass her lips as he dug frantically through his pockets to find the rings. The rest of the ceremony went without another glitch, but she barely kept her laugh at bay when the newlyweds walked down the aisle together. She slipped in next to Vincent as he walked by, and he threw her a look that was a cross between amused, mortified and accusatory. "It's not my fault if you daydreamed,” she murmured, preemptively defending herself, and he only glared at her, causing another bubble of silent laughter to rise to her lips. It was only when they arrived at the reception site that her amusement faded, when she realized she would be seated between Vincent and his father. Vincent should have been sitting at Don and Jeanie's table, but he had asked them to sit with Lilia at a less conspicuous table, and they hadn't argued about it. Lilia hadn't known Emery was invited, and hadn't noticed him at the church, but it was impossible to avoid him as he waved at her and Vincent to show them where their seats were. She hadn't seen him since they had first met, and she had a rather fond memory of him, but she had not anticipated she would need to pay attention to her every word all evening long and the prospect wasn't particularly exciting. But during the dinner, Emery commented, sotto-voce, that it would have been common politeness for

their hosts to provide her with food that suited her. She threw him a startled look before turning to Vincent, who had heard the comment. He shrugged. "He would have needed to know sooner or later,” he explained. “And I told you I wouldn't ask you to play the act again, didn't I?" You also told me he wants all vampires dead with a passion, she wanted to say, but maybe it was best not to remind Emery that he ought to dislike her. "I can't say I'm thrilled,” the oldest Jordan said, his eyes shifting between Lilia and Vincent behind her as he spoke. “But it's not like I have much say, is it?" And as easily as that, the matter was settled, and Lilia was left to wonder what had just happened. **** "Would you have ever thought about it?" Her body continuing to follow the soft rhythm of the music, Lilia raised an eyebrow at him and didn't need to ask before Vincent clarified. "About marriage, I mean. If there had been no spell to push you in that direction, is it something you had ever wanted? Not just with me, with anyone." She shrugged lightly against him, repressing a smile when she noticed the effect the small movement had on certain parts of his anatomy. "It doesn't matter, now,” she replied absently, accentuating the pressure of her hip right where she could feel him hardening against her while trying to remain inconspicuous. Jeanie would have her head if she created any kind of fuss. “The spell happened, as did the rest. You can't change the past.” Another raised eyebrow. “Do you wish you could change what happened?" Her actions were definitely affecting him, for it took him a few seconds to answer her question. "Hmm? Wha ... Of course not. I wouldn't change a thing. Just wondering if the lovely woman currently trying to make me embarrass myself in the middle of a crowded dance floor had ever thought of marriage before she proposed to me. And if she might have proposed without a spell forcing her hand." Lilia shuddered; focused on the added sway of her hips into her dance, she had not noticed his fingers creeping up from the middle of her back to her neck and the sensitive mark there. "No, she wouldn't have,” she replied as she rested her cheek against his shoulder, bringing their bodies that much closer. “Because unlike you, she remembers that vampires aren't legally allowed to marry. So the point is moot. Let it drop, Jordan." He couldn't have missed the warning in her voice, especially punctuated with her use of his last name, but he continued as though he hadn't heard a word of what she had said. "It could have been nice. That way, we'd have had the vampire Mating, and the human marriage. Joined in both worlds." Sighing, she pulled back, just a little, so she could see his face. A few months back, she would have

taken his words as one more proof of his desire for a human girlfriend. She knew better, now, even if she didn't know what had prompted this conversation. “Vincent..." "Shh ... Does it matter, if it's not legal? If you come down to it, it's also illegal for vamps and humans to Mate, and that didn't stop us." A fleeting wave of heat ran through her as her mind summoned memories of their Mating. "I'm not sure anything could have stopped us,” she grinned, and he returned her smile. "Probably not, no. And I don't think there's anything that could stop me now." She had but a second to wonder what he meant before his right hand let go of her left for an instant, then returned to slide something cool and smooth down her ring finger. She didn't look at it, she didn't need to, not after the talk they had just had. "You asked, and I said yes,” he murmured. “I don't go back on my word. At least, not this time." There was a knot tightening in Lilia's throat, and she was certain her mascara was going to be running down her cheeks soon. "Not fair,” she mumbled. “I don't even have a ring to..." "Right pocket,” he interrupted gently. Lilia's hand trembled when she slipped it into his jacket's pocket and found the wedding band. She closed her fist over it and pulled it out, taking at the same time a step away from Vincent. He looked at her in alarm, but she shook her head and smiled at him, trying to reassure him. "We need to go,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. “Because if we don't, I'm going to reenact our Mating right here and now. And I'm not sure Don and Jeanie would be all that happy to see the demonstration." Laughing, Vincent took her hand and pulled her toward the exit, the slim gold band pressed between their palms. The End

About the author Kallysten is a French citizen whose most exciting accomplishment to date was to cross a few thousand miles and an ocean to pursue (and catch!) the love of her life. She has been writing for almost fifteen years, and always enjoyed sharing her stories and listening to the readers’ reactions. After playing with science fiction, short stories, poetry and fanfiction, she is now trying her hand, heart and words at paranormal romance novels. Check out Kallysten's other books, available at Alinar Publishing—www.alinarpublishing.com On The Edge Series (erotic, vampire) On the Edge

Out of the Box—Books One, Two and Three Forget Ever After Other books In This Life or the Next (time travel) All Things Except Blood (vampire) Free read on Alinar Adult Yahoo!Group Dancing. Visit Kallysten's Website at original.kallysten.net

Visit www.alinarpublishing.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.