The Third Kiss

The Third Kiss: Dorian’s Dream The Third Kiss series Book One

Heather Killough-Walden

The Third Kiss: Dorian’s Dream Book One of The Third Kiss Series Heather Killough-Walden

Published by Republica Press 1008 North Talbot Windsor, Ontario N9G 2S3 www.republicapress.com

All rights reserved. Copyright © 2010 by Heather Killough-Walden No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including emailing, printing, photocopying, or faxing without prior written permission from author and Republica Press.

ISBN 978-1-926830-04-9

Printed in Canada

Cover Artist: Heather Killough-Walden

For Sarah

Prologue “You’re a real bastard, Julien.” Julien Adalard turned toward his brother, a small smile curving his sensuous, blood-stained lips. “Bastard?” he asked softly. He looked down, his perfect brows drawing together, as if in solemn contemplation. He licked his lips then and shook his head. “Non,” he said as he turned to leave. “If I recall correctly, mon frere, that was you.” Dorian Adalard watched his brother leave the dimly lit chamber. The sound of the king’s boots hitting the stone echoed off of the walls around them as he walked across the carved floor and through the open archway. Once there, he paused, and turned to pin Dorian with his glacial gaze one last time. Julien’s blue-black hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders, making the blue of his eyes all that more intense. He had always looked like an angel to Dorian. The angel of death. Julien cocked his head to one side, allowing his gaze to slide down Dorian’s face, to the huge gash in the side of his neck. He seemed to consider something for a moment, and then his eyes met Dorian’s once again. He smiled slightly, turned away, and rounded the corner without another word. The guards at the door bowed low as he exited, reverent as always in the presence of their sovereign. Hatred burned like acid through Dorian’s veins, as if to replace the blood that his brother had taken from him. Weakness flooded his system, making his arms and legs tremble where they stretched, shackled, beneath the iron manacles of the croix de alimenter, a crucifix-like structure where Julien’s men strapped their victims at feeding time.

Heather Killough-Walden He closed his eyes as he felt his heart skip, a contraction no doubt brought on by acute and abrupt anemia. He smiled as he fought to steady his breath, thinking of the ridiculous stories that had been told throughout time of how his kind did not possess such hearts. Boy, could he attest differently. His own heart ached quite frequently, and often threatened to cease beating altogether. This was not the first time he had been on one of Julien’s crosses. And each time he was thrown back onto the device, held down and fettered into place, he feared that it would be his last. For, if his heart ever did cease beating beneath the onslaught of one of his kind, he would become a wraith. A twice-dead. It was his worst nightmare, and had been for centuries. It was forbidden for his people to force one another into such a death. But Julien was the king. One day he would push Dorian over that precipice, and he would never be able to return. Not in mind or spirit. His body, however, would remain behind; an empty, animated husk. The wraith was a creature that appeared human, moved like a ghost, and killed, absent of soul or conscience. And the wraith that he became would be Julien’s, to command as he wished. Dorian gritted his teeth as his heart skipped another beat and his world lurched to the side. Dizziness had never before claimed him after one of Julien’s “lessons.” His brother had taken too much this time. The marking he’d left on Dorian’s neck was far from the usual dual puncture wounds identified with their kind. It was a messy three inch gash, torn into his flesh, which gushed blood with each weak pulse and drenched his side even as he stood there, confined in his manacles. He’d clenched his fists and bitten his tongue as he’d felt his brother render the mark, knowing it might not heal properly, despite his unnatural healing abilities. Julien had been well and truly pissed at Dorian this time and meant to deliver a punishment that he would not soon forget. Should he survive. -6-

The Third Kiss Another off-beat contraction sent Dorian’s world rocking back and forth and a low moan escaped his throat. A guard at the door snickered. Dorian opened his eyes. He fixed his ice-blue gaze on the man, despite the blurriness invading his vision. “Are you still with us, my prince?” the guard asked, making no attempt to hide his smirk. Dorian narrowed his gaze and, with great effort, focused upon the man’s features. He could tell that the scent of his blood was getting to them. They’d been at their stations for several hours, and had most likely not fed since the night before. Their complexions were pale, their faces somewhat drawn. As did the eyes of every member of their race, the guards’ eyes reflected the candle light eerily, more so because the guards were hungry. Dorian knew that they both yearned to taste from him. His blood was old, of royal descent, and powerful. He fought the urge to mirror their condescending smiles when he realized that he was practically teasing them, bleeding profusely before them as they stood there in their posts, forbidden to approach their prince for any reason. He ignored the man’s baiting and concentrated on his breathing. In. Out. Smooth and slow. The wound would begin healing soon. His blood would stop spilling. He just needed to hold on a little while longer. Several painful heart skips later, he sensed the change within him click safely into place. When he finally felt the uneven gash in his neck begin to mend, he closed his eyes once again and let his head drop back against the wooden plank of the cross. As he at last became convinced that this was not his time to die, he let his mind wander. He thought of what waited for him downstairs in the courtyard. Black-powder coated twin cam engine, chrome profile laced wheels, a drag-style bar… When he finally left this dungeon, he was going on a trip. A nice long one. Across country, maybe. That was a nice dream. And he was taking his favorite Harley. -7-

Heather Killough-Walden

Chapter One Emma squinted and focused on the single object speeding closer in the distance. “Come on, come on…Be a gorgeous hunk this time. Long hair, great body, tight jeans…” She bit her lip and waited as the figure rolled closer, crossed that heat-mirage barrier that spanned the highway in the distance, and slowly came into full view. When the bike finally approached, its two female drivers waving affably, Emma smiled and waved in return. And then she leaned her head back against the head rest and laughed softly. She watched in her side view mirror as the Harley rolled away behind her, disappearing into the distance. Two Rolex Rider matrons out for an afternoon ride. Somewhere in between mid-life crisis and menopause. Just outside of Dallas. Emma sighed and leaned back into the cradle of her bucket seat. Five hours down, six to go. She shifted her legs a little, rising off of her rump for a few blessed seconds. Her butt hurt. Well, half of her butt hurt. The other half was numb. The two-door Dodge Neon she lovingly referred to as “Danny” was not the most luxurious of vehicles, and across country, the stick-shift was down-right painful. She sighed again and looked out her window. At least the scenery was changing. It took three hours out of Lubbock before she could see anything but flat dirt and windmills, but now that East Texas was passing her by at eighty miles an hour, there were honest-to-god trees and green rolling hills to break up the monotony. Emma slipped in a cassette tape—no CD player in the car—and took a sip of her diet coke and melted ice. As Leonard Cohen started to croon to her about waiting for that miracle, she let her mind wander. The last time she’d made this drive, it had been early spring, March, and fog

-8-

The Third Kiss season in Louisiana. She’d gone to New Orleans to photograph what she called the bog; what her brother, Patrick, fondly referred to as the bayou. The trip had produced some incredible shots, despite the fact that she’d suffered from heat rash for four of the six days she’d been there. In fact, it was those photographs that would be showing tomorrow night in her brother’s gallery. She was going to have her own show. And, in her brother’s honor, she’d named it, “Breath of the Bayou”. It had been some of her best work yet. Steamy, smoky, mysterious. She’d managed to capture the essence of what Louisiana was to her. A veil of wispy, shifting secrets, beyond which, if you were lucky, you might catch glimpses of a very ancient, very powerful magic. Patrick, Emma’s older brother by four years, had lived in New Orleans for most of his life. Their parents were still very young when Emma was a baby. They were the inexperienced and unqualified parents of two kids they couldn’t raise on their own, and so they moved to the Sportsman’s Paradise because that was where grandpa lived. Grandpa had never wanted them to marry in the first place. But like any grandfather, he fell deeply in love with his grandkids. After a while, he forgot about his anger, and, as a result, their mother inherited the house when he’d had his second stroke at seventy-six years of age. Ten years later, Emma’s parents passed as well. Emma, then sixteen, stayed with her brother for another two years, and then went to Baton Rouge and got her degree in Religious Studies at LSU. Seeing as how you could do nothing but engage in interesting, worthless conversation with beatniks at Starbucks with such a degree, she quickly thereafter embarked on a series of moves across the country, taking work as a customer service rep here, and a sales manager there, and a marketing writer here, and a database administrator there. -9-

Heather Killough-Walden And now she did freelance photography. She was somehow managing to be quite good at it. She’d already won several awards for her nature and wildlife shots, and had managed to sell a good amount of her work as stock photography. When Emma left New Orleans twelve years ago, Patrick stayed behind, earned his MBA from Tulane, and opened his own art gallery. Emma wasn’t positive that it was the best business move for her brother to allow her to show her work in his venue so early in her photographing career, but she couldn’t hide the fact that she was grateful for it. This show could propel her onto a higher rung on the artsy-fartsy ladder of life. And she needed some breaks right about now. She had just barely managed to pay off her Neon and was still plenty of thousands of dollars in debt for school loans and groceries-on-the-credit-card. Plus, she had no health insurance. God forbid her just recently red-doored Neon crap out on her in the middle of an intersection one busy afternoon. Emma sighed and shifted in her seat once again. Now both butt cheeks were numb. She was running low on gas. And she could use another box of Boston Baked Beans. And a tooth brushing. And she needed to pee. It was time to find a Seven Eleven. **** Dorian leaned into the handlebars of his bike and kicked the engine into a higher gear. It was one of those rare occasions when the bridge across Lake Pontchartrain wasn’t backed up with traffic, and he intended to take full advantage of it. He’d done this drive too many times to be impressed by the span of the lake on either side. But he’d chosen it because of the simple fact that he could. No other vampire could cross this lake,

- 10 -

The Third Kiss and in his current state of hatred toward his kin, he needed the assurance, however insignificant, that he was not, in every way, like his brother. However, he wasn’t enjoying the trip as he’d hoped he would. His mind was on other matters. He’d dreamed last night. After nearly a decade of dreamless sleep, he had dreamed about a woman with long golden hair and large, almond brown eyes. She’d been talking to him, but he had been unable to hear or understand the words she’d spoken. He remembered saying something back to her, and she’d smiled. Dorian had lived a very long time, and yet, he was fairly certain that it had been one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever been on the receiving end of. Dorian had dreamed of women before, off and on, over the course of his very long life. He was man, after all, and had a healthy, active imagination. But the thing about this dream that kept it lingering in the back of his mind was the part at the very end. That split-second scene he’d witnessed just before waking up. His golden-haired, brown-eyed angel had placed her hand to her stomach. And it had been large with child. He didn’t know who she was, or even if she was real. However, he couldn’t help but wonder whose child it was. And the thought of it being anyone’s but his made him feel, inexplicably… Dorian was rudely jerked from his reverie by a sudden pain on the side of his neck. He released one handlebar and placed the palm of his right hand to the newly healed wound. The scar was puckered and pink and would never disappear entirely. His brother had made certain of that. Dorian’s visage darkened as he thought of the vampire king. More than two hundred years ago, Julien Adalard was born the first son of Jacques Guerrier Adalard and Josephine Briand Sordeau, the vampire sovereigns of France for well over a thousand years. As their first, and subsequently, only legitimate child, Julien inherited all rights and titles due to a prince of the French vampire kingdom. - 11 -

Heather Killough-Walden The vampire king and queen were far from monogamous, as it was well accepted that, in vampire society, promiscuity was as near to natural as the consumption of blood. However, seventy-five years after Julien’s birth, Jacques Guerrier had an affair with a young human French woman named Marie-Bibiane which resulted in something that had never before occurred. A child. Dorian was that child. He was a half-vampire, and an anomaly amongst their kind. No other human female had ever before born the fruit of a male vampire, and to this day, no female vampire had ever been impregnated by a human male. The fact that the king had managed such a thing with Marie-Bibiane infuriated the queen to no end. It was not long after Dorian’s miraculous birth that his poor French mother mysteriously disappeared. And it was not long after her disappearance that the king of the vampires was found as a pile of ash in his bed, the heavy black curtains having mysteriously fallen from his bed chamber windows during the day, allowing the deadly rays of the sun to burn him to dust. Though rumor had it that the queen also attempted to do away with the young half-vampire babe in much the same manner, sunlight failed to mark or mar the babe’s flesh in any way. When the queen and her son realized that the half-vampire baby was immune to the weaknesses of full vampires, they apparently decided to allow the child to live, believing that he may, at some point in the future, prove useful. A very short while after King Jacques’s death, Julien Adalard took his father’s place as king of the vampires. And, as luck would have it, his own mother took to a mysterious vampire illness not long afterwards and passed away, leaving Julien as the sole sovereign of his people. Julien Adalard was a very powerful vampire. Not only did he possess the ruthless cunning necessary to survive the politics of vampire yesteryear, he carried a few aces up his sleeve which his vampire counterparts did not. - 12 -

The Third Kiss Julien’s mother, Josephine, had been more than just the vampire queen of France. She had also been a warlock—a person able to use magic, but who does so with malign intent—and she had taught her son a thing or two before she’d died. As a result, Julien now wielded the talents of a skilled warlock, and it was this dark verity which kept Dorian tethered to his older brother with a tie as strong as any chain. Around his neck, Julien Adalard wore what, on a monarch, appeared to be an overly plain pendant. It consisted of a simple black leather strap tied to a small clear crystal, within which was suspended a single red drop of blood. This blood was Dorian’s blood, taken from him when he was a babe. With that pendant and a few whispered words of powerful, archaic vehemence, Julien could send a stream of weakness or pain or outright obedience coursing through his younger brother’s veins. Dorian had attempted, many times, to take the necklace from the king. And, every time, he had failed, and was subsequently punished for trying. Dorian rubbed the scar on his neck. It was still tender. Julien had almost killed him this time; he’d stopped just short of it. Dorian laughed harshly, knowing in his heart that the king would think twice before ridding himself of such a commodity. Dorian was the only Halfling known to the entire vampire community. He was a mutation in vampire genetics, a miracle of sorts, a glitch in his peoples’ reproductive cycle. As a half vampire, he possessed all of the strengths of his ancestors—and none of the weaknesses. He could pick up a semi, move fast enough that his form actually blurred, and empathically influence, to a certain extent, a mortal mind. He could even fly. However, unlike other vampires, including his brother, he could walk in daylight. Even at noon. He could cross natural running water. And he could walk upon hallowed ground.

- 13 -

Heather Killough-Walden There were three kinds of vampires in the world: the born vampire, also known as the true vampire or full vampire; the created vampire, also known as changelings, and in some cases, slaves; and the half-vampire, or Halfling. Of the final category, Dorian was the single representative. Probably not forever, he thought as his hog thundered down the two-lane, twenty-five mile long bridge. Two hundred years ago, when the colonies were first forming upon the land now known as the United States, a mortal gypsy woman from Cluj-Napoca had asked to see the Romanian vampire king. He had allowed her audience, if only out of bored curiosity, and she had told him something that would change the fate of the vampire nations forever. The gypsy woman told the Romanian king that one day, each king would glimpse a vision of a very special mortal woman. The woman they envisioned or dreamt of would be capable of carrying the child of a vampire. The gypsy woman told the king that these women would become their queens, and that with such queens at their sides, the kings could create veritable armies of Halfling vampires— vampires with all of their unnatural strengths, and none of their unnatural weaknesses. Dorian shook his head as he remembered how the news of the old woman’s ranting had spread through the vampire grapevine. Almost immediately, the sovereigns of the various vampire nations had gathered together and decided what they must do. Because it was entirely possible that these prophesied women may pop up anywhere in the world, the vampire lords, even those already wed to vampire women, resolved that some would need to move their territories out of Europe in order to encompass a greater span of land.

- 14 -

The Third Kiss Julien Adalard, of France, had chosen the newly forming colonies in North America, as had Russia’s vampire king, Aleksei Voronoi, Norway’s vampire king, Rune Einar, Austria’s king, Warren Roth, and the vampire king of England, Merrick Thane London. Within a decade, the vampire nations that had previously existed solely in Europe encompassed the entire globe. There were territories in Australia, Brazil, Africa, and even Greenland. The United States, as it turned out, housed the vampire factions that had become the most powerful, the most quickly. “American” capitalism just happened to be precisely the right venue for making the most of the wealth that its new resident vampires had already managed to amass over their many years of un-life. Lord Julien Adalard, for himself, owned a large number of prosperous enterprises, and financially exploited real estate that stretched across Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and Florida. To mortal eyes, he was a handsome and incredibly wealthy bachelor, if not a bit eccentric, for his rather reclusive ways. After all, Julien never showed his face in the light of day. It was Dorian, Julien’s “assistant”, who took care of most of the business details of Julien’s conglomerate while the king dealt with vampire politics and slept his days away in an undead stupor. As a vampire, Dorian could often read human minds, and as a result, he hired and fired well. Julien’s business empire was run steadily and efficiently by some of the most highly-trained and competent people available. After the initial set up, Dorian rarely had to participate directly in operations and mainly handled the public relations aspects of his king’s financial empire. The other vampire kings had fared equally as well, and resided in other areas of the United States. Hawaii, for the fact that it existed so far from the other forty-eight contingent states, and all of that distance, natural running water, had been left alone. And Alaska, for its six months of - 15 -

Heather Killough-Walden impossibly long daylight hours, held very little appeal for the vampire community, and therefore also remained untouched and unclaimed by any of its sovereign factions. Dorian pulled his mind briefly from his peoples’ history and politics as Lake Pontchartrain Causeway finally hit dry land and became North Causeway Boulevard. He stalled for a moment in slight bottleneck traffic and then began to illegally maneuver his bike around the stilled vehicles, taking various one-way streets until he came to the on-ramp for Interstate 10 and sped onto it. He followed 10 for a few minutes, got off on 90, and rode it all the way to the Garden District. And then, as if he had made the drive a thousand times—which he had—he eased his bike into the back streets and alleys of his favorite place in the world, until he came to his own private garage, unlocked it, and wheeled the bike into the waiting darkness, closing the door behind him. He kicked the stand down, dismounted, and then walked, in the darkness, to the nearest wall. With practiced memory, his gloved hand found the switch, and he flicked it on. A row of overhead fluorescents hummed to life. He stood still for a moment and simply allowed his iceblue gaze to roam over the prizes parked within the vast garage’s interior. The massive warehouse spanned half a city block on the west side of the Quarter, sharing property value with several three- and four-star hotels and bed and breakfasts. Housed within the garage were no fewer than twenty motorcycles, a dozen Mercedes coupes and roadsters, three Porsches, a Bentley, and a Rolls-Royce Phantom. All of them black. Dorian liked black. Along the walls were shelves lined with riding gear and portable closets, which contained every kind of garment and attire, from jeans and riding boots to Armani suits and wing-tipped shoes.

- 16 -

The Third Kiss At the far end of the garage was a staircase that led to the second level of the building. The second floor was an apartment furnished for entertaining and housed a large living room, a wellstocked bar, plush, comfortable furniture, two well-appointed guest suites, a massive hot tub, and a wrap-around balcony overlooking a busy street lined with bakeries and bookstores. Dorian moved away from the wall and took a deep breath. The French Quarter beckoned. To a human, the Quarter’s smells were an intoxicating, sometimes disgusting mixture of Cajun spices, humidity, sweat, and backed-up sewage. To a vampire, whose sense of smell was both more acute and more discerning, New Orleans smelled like something else entirely: a melting pot of old blood, new blood, foreign blood, alcohol-spiked blood, and, always, as if it flavored everything it touched with its misty fingers, there was the ever-present scent of impending storm. It smelled delicious, and Dorian was hungry. With one last glance over the vehicles he used for both business and pleasure, Dorian exited the garage, locking it behind him. The lock was almost a moot point, and was there more for show of mortal significance than anything else. Julien’s black magic may be a thorn in Dorian’s side when it came to his freedom or lack thereof, but it was also the king’s unearthly mojo that kept the garage safe from human vandalism. As far as thieves were concerned, the garage just wasn’t an option. Would-be moonlighters would pass it by as if it wasn’t there. Dorian’s two— and four—wheeled prizes were safer than anything hidden within the walls of Fort Knox. Dorian paused outside the garage and cocked his head to one side. He listened. He let the scents in the air waft through his nostrils. It was late afternoon in the French Quarter, and though there were fewer these days than there were half a decade ago, plenty of tourists were still beginning to gather, the businessmen were beginning to get liquored up, the mortal predators were warming up for a night of hunting upon their equally mortal prey. Dorian closed his eyes and let the signs of the night point out to him his next meal. Then he smiled and moved so fast - 17 -

Heather Killough-Walden that he blurred into the shadows and would have disappeared from human sight, had there been anyone there to see him. **** Eighty miles away, in a massive moss-draped antebellum mansion in Baton Rouge, Julien Adalard slept the sleep of the dead. Or the undead. Only, this night, his sleep was disturbed by visions of a woman with long golden hair and almond brown eyes. He was watching her and he was fairly certain that she didn’t know he was there. She was walking through the forest abutting a bayou, a camera strap around her neck, her right hand beneath the weight of an extra-long lens, her left hand brushing aside branches as she made her way further and further into the swamp. He moved silently behind her, and then beside her. He was within a foot of her and, still, she was oblivious to his presence. He reached out to touch her, and his hand stilled an inch away. If he touched her, she would react. She would turn, frightened, and then she would run. He didn’t want her to run. She was beautiful. Americans were preoccupied with threadlike, frail slenderness that often caused its women to appear unhealthy, too fragile, if not downright skeletal. He’d seen diseases cause the same kind of appearance in women, and cared nothing for that particular trend. However, this woman, though lean, appeared muscular. She seemed delicate, yet strong. She was not overly tall, her height reaching to a mere few inches above five feet. Though she seemed small, in some sylph-like manner, she also gave off the aura of a fighter. She fascinated him.

- 18 -

The Third Kiss He withdrew his hand and followed her a little longer. He watched as she at last stopped in her tracks, knelt quickly, and with practiced stealth, brought the camera to her eye, aimed carefully, and snapped several silent shots. The scene changed suddenly, and he was standing atop a staircase, looking down at the same woman. She was dressed in a thin, charcoal gray, spaghetti-strap shift that clung enticingly to her shapely frame and came to mid-thigh. On her feet were silver-gray heels that accentuated her tanned legs and made his gaze darken. He felt his teeth lengthen and he began to descend the stairs. She had been walking across the room below him, but when he moved toward her, she stopped and looked up. Their eyes met, and she froze. The scene changed one last time. He was holding her hand now, one of his hands wrapped around her wrist, the other grasping her fingers, holding her still. He gazed down at the ring on her finger. It was a simple band of black platinum, with a single black diamond at its center. Along the band were inscribed ancient words of magic. He recognized them as belonging to a binding spell. And within the clear, black diamond at the center of the ring floated the red insignia of the vampire people. It was a wedding band. The same one his mother had worn. Julien’s eyes widened and his head shot up, capturing her gaze within his own. His blue eyes were piercing; sudden, passionate emotion causing them to become unnaturally luminous. He could feel her tense in his grasp. A glimmer of uncertainty crossed her lovely features. As if he could resist the draw of his awakening, he held her tighter, his grip becoming like an iron band around her wrist. And just before he woke, he felt her attempt to pull away from him. Julien sat upright in his bed, realization washing over him like a cold wave. - 19 -

Heather Killough-Walden She was his bride. She was the mortal woman who would bear him children. After twohundred years, he had finally glimpsed her. His queen. He waved a hand and the torches along the walls sprang to fiery life. He pushed the covers of his massive bed aside and rose, taking long graceful strides to the iron-banded door at one side of his chamber. As he moved, clothes magically appeared on his tall form, one piece at a time. Expensive gray slacks, shiny black leather shoes, a tight black t-shirt and a gray sports coat. He opened the door and stepped through into the long cavernous hallway beyond. Another vampire met him at the end of the hall. “Your Majesty, you rise early tonight. Is all well?” “I saw her, Tristan,” Julien replied, barely looking at the large man by his side. The second vampire, a man of slightly less height but considerable brawn and a completely bald head, followed closely beside his master, as Julien did not slow in his long, purposeful stride. “I saw the queen. I know who she is.” Tristan said nothing for a moment, and Julien ignored his silence. He strode quickly down the hall, climbed a series of stairwells, moved down another long hall, and did not slow when two vampires opened another door for him and bowed reverently as he passed through it. Finally, Tristan spoke, and it seemed he chose his words carefully. “My Lord, do you speak of the woman…the mortal woman who—” “Who can bear my children.” He stilled and pinned Tristan with a hard stare. “Half-vampire children.” He looked away again, and Tristan blinked. “Her name is Emma Rose Nekoda. I don’t know how I know this, but I do, and more. The gypsy woman spoke the truth.” Julien finally entered the vast study on the first floor of his giant mansion and approached his desk. He pulled open the top drawer and lifted the iPhone from its interior. He hit speed dial. - 20 -

The Third Kiss As he waited for the call to connect, he turned his attention to Tristan once more. “She lives in Lubbock, Texas, of all places. She’s a photographer. Unfortunately, she makes her home in an old church, pour l’amour de Dieu, and I have a feeling she rarely leaves her house after daylight hours.” “So, you’ll be using Dorian to retrieve her.” “Of course. Tristan, I want you to have quarters prepared for her. And have her researched. I want to know everything about her, her family, her background. Leave no stone unturned. Report back to me later tonight.” “Yes, my liege.” Tristan bowed low and left. Julien turned away from the doorway and moved to stand by the massive windows that looked out over the gardens beyond. A strange whirlwind of information swam through his head, remnants of magically-endowed information from the dream of his queen. He pulled the long drapes to the side and stared out into the darkness, his eyes seeing much more than the mortal eye could. Finally, he heard his half brother pick up on the other end. “What do you want?” “Mon frere, is that any way to greet family?” “Don’t fuck with me, Julien. What do you want? I’m in the middle of dinner.” “I’ve found her, Dorian. And I want you to bring her to me.” **** Dorian stared down at the limp figure at his feet. His normally blue eyes glowed red with barely controlled hunger. He looked from his victim to the phone in his hand and bared his teeth, which were straight and white and sported newly grown, very sharp fangs. “Found who, Julien?” - 21 -

Heather Killough-Walden The man stirred on the ground beside his feet. Dorian’s gaze narrowed. “My queen, Dorian. I’ve glimpsed her. I want you to return to the mansion immediately so that I may fill you in. You’ll need to go after her as soon as possible.” Dorian took a moment to digest the information. The man on the ground rose up on one shaky elbow and turned a blood-smeared face up at Dorian. “Wha—” Dorian kicked him in the head with his boot, and the man went down once again. The smell of freshly spilled blood made Dorian’s nostrils flare. “Your queen.” Dorian repeated the word, slowly mulling over its meaning as hunger gnawed at his insides and his gaze drifted downward to the unconscious body lying at his feet. “You mean the mortal woman the gypsy spoke of.” Dorian spoke the words without inflection, allowing none of the emotion stirring within him to show. “Oui.” Dorian had nothing to say. His half-vampire heart hammered in his chest. He waited in silence, red eyes glowing, fangs glistening in the New Orleans lamp light. “Come to the mansion, Dorian. Don’t make me wait.” The line went dead, and Dorian closed the lid on his phone. He pocketed it and bent to kneel beside the man on the ground. He’d found his victim in an alleyway, beating on a young black woman, using a knife to inflict wounds upon both her clothing and her flesh. After he had sent the woman into a trance-like state and directed her to the nearest medical facility, he’d dragged the man to a separate alley and had begun to feed when his cell phone had rung. Now he lifted the man’s limp body with one leather gloved hand around his neck and shoved him up against a wall.

- 22 -

The Third Kiss “Awaken.” His voice was a low command, and the man’s eyes fluttered open. He stared down at Dorian with nothing short of unadulterated terror, and Dorian smiled. “Welcome to the other side.” Dorian held him up with one hand against his chest, and pulled his head to the side with the other. His otherworldly red-eyed face descended and the man screamed. Dorian’s sharp teeth pierced his flesh and dug in deep. As he took long pulls and swallowed his victim’s warm, adrenaline-laden blood, he let his mind wander. To a beautiful woman with long golden hair and almond brown eyes. And a king who had found his queen.

- 23 -

Heather Killough-Walden

Chapter Two Emma locked the door, swung her heavy canvas satchel over her shoulder, and hobbled out of the parking garage, grumbling to herself. “Eleven friggin’ dollars for one friggin’ hour…” she mumbled as she rubbed her left butt cheek and then her right. Half way out of the dark cement building, she paused, lifted her leg behind her in a yoga-esque quad stretch, and then did the same on the other side. She was sore and tired and extremely hungry. Her hair was frizzy and flat at the same time and any make-up she’d applied eleven hours ago had long since evaporated into the interior of her car. She wanted a long hot shower, a filling vegan meal, and a soft bed. Her brother had better have a plan for tonight. As she reached the entrance to the garage, she forced a friendly smile for the attendant, who nodded in her direction, and then she was out in the New Orleans night, her feet pounding pavement at a quick pace. The French Quarter was not a place for a woman to roam alone after dusk, but luckily, her brother’s gallery was just around the corner. She kept her head up and her shoulders back, and peered into every shadow as she passed by the alleyways, giving them wide berth and keeping as much to the lamplight as possible. Finally, she came to the intersection, and turned the corner just as a Harley roared to life across the street. On instinct, and because she’d been doing so for so long, always subconsciously hoping for that gorgeous hunk of a biker, she turned in that direction to see who had started the engine. “Oh no. You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath. Not ten yards away was one of the most incredibly handsome men she had ever laid eyes on. And he was situating his gorgeous rock-hard body on the top of a Softail Night Train as if it was a black stallion and he was going to ride it off into the night.

- 24 -

The Third Kiss Emma actually came to a stand still as she stared at the blonde-haired man. She didn’t normally fall for blondes. She preferred men with black hair, piercing eyes, tall and dark, just like every other red-blooded American female in existence. But something about this guy grabbed her attention and held tight. As she watched the muscles of his long, strong legs flex beneath his tight jeans, a little voice inside of her head gently reminded her that she looked like crap and probably didn’t smell all that great either. She ignored the voice and kept staring. His hair fell to his shoulders in careless waves and as he gripped the handle bars, his biceps and triceps bulged against his tight black t-shirt. Off-hand, she wondered what it would feel like to be held down by those arms, to be wrapped up in them, to have those long legs between her— The man looked up, as if he could sense he was being watched, and their eyes met. His were a piercing ice-blue and, even from this distance, they made her gasp. She tried to blink, and couldn’t. She tried to look away, to pretend she hadn’t noticed him, was just going about her own business, but like an idiot, she continued to stand there, continued to stare, and vaguely, as if in a dream, she realized that her mouth was hanging open. The man slowly stood to his full, impressive height, his long muscled legs straddling the bike on either side, and pinned her with a gaze that said he had noticed her and that there was no way in hell she could pretend to not have noticed him as well. For what seemed like a full minute, the two of them stared at each other. He, with his bike idling in that delicious, low rumble, her with the New Orleans breeze blowing her wild, un-kempt hair about her face like a golden halo. Finally, and slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, the man eased himself back down onto the bike, never taking his eyes off of her. He revved the engine a few times and began to pull away from the parking space and into the street. Still, he watched her. - 25 -

Heather Killough-Walden He wasn’t wearing a helmet and didn’t seem to have one attached anywhere on the bike. Stupid man, Emma thought. Stupid, gorgeous hunk of a man. And then he smiled. Emma stopped breathing. It was a beautiful smile. He had the most sensual lips. The smile curved them into a line both enticing and a little cruel. As the man at last turned away from her to pay attention to the road and cars ahead, she realized that it had been far from your mere friendly smile. There had been promise in that smile. And lots of it. **** If Dorian had ever been unsure as to whether or not a human heart still beat in his chest, he was more than positive now. Because a few minutes ago, it had very nearly stopped. And now it was thrumming along at a thousand beats per minute, and if he hadn’t been immortal and invulnerable to any mangling and disassembling a motorcycle crash might cause to his body, he would be a little worried about his ability to drive under his current condition. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. One second, he’d been pissed, but sated, ready to head back to Baton Rouge to see to his brother’s incessant whims, a little preoccupied about the actual possibility of a woman now existing who could carry a half-vampire child, when he’d felt that he was being watched. He’d looked up, and the world had fallen out from beneath him. She was the woman from his dream. The woman with the golden hair and almond brown eyes. The one who had been laughing with him, smiling that perfect, angelic smile. The woman who was pregnant. In his dream. - 26 -

The Third Kiss And she was staring at him in abject fascination. He had stared right back, wondering for a moment whether there had been some sort of hallucinogen in the blood of the man he’d just fed upon. And then he’d sent out his mental feelers, and had just barely managed to penetrate the outer layer of her consciousness. She was real. And she was as impressed with him as he was with her. He was able to read her thoughts rather clearly, and what she thought of him warmed his blood as surely as actually doing the things she was thinking about would have. He didn’t know what seeing the woman of his dreams meant. He hadn’t the slightest clue. But he was intrigued enough to know that he would be back. He decided then and there that he would go back to the mansion, if only to placate the king’s unending penury for his half-brother’s assistance and stave off any kind of punishment he might otherwise decide to dole out. And then, when this business of the king’s was over, he would be back. He would find this woman with the golden hair and chocolate eyes. He would find her and show her just what it would feel like to be held down by him and have his long, strong legs between her own. **** “You must tell your sovereign that my king has located one of the prophesied queens.” “You are sure of this?” “I am. And there is little time to lose. He has already summoned the Halfling to his service. Dorian will be tracking her by day break.” “Understood. My king will reward you handsomely, as always.” “I’ve little doubt. But, as I’ve said, time is of the essence. Leave now.” ****

- 27 -

Heather Killough-Walden Dorian parked the bike in the courtyard and strode through the large double doors and into the front entry hall. Guards nodded as he passed, and he nodded in return. In a moment, Tristan was at his side. “Where is he?” Dorian asked as he walked. “In the study. He is impatient.” “Thanks for the warning.” “You’re welcome. And Dorian, don’t push him this time, please. I have never seen him so adamant.” Dorian looked his friend in the eyes for a moment. He’d known the man his entire undead life. Tristan had served his father before Julien, and thus, to Dorian, he filled the roles of uncle, advisor, and close friend. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. Will you take the bike in? I think it’s going to storm.” “Certainly.” Tristan left with a respectful nod for his prince, and Dorian made his way to the large study in one wing of the giant mansion. Julien was waiting for him. “Did you enjoy your outing, little brother?” “Come now, Julien, you know that any time I spend away from you is time in which you are sorely missed. I simply couldn’t wait to return to your side.” Julien stared up at him from where he sat reclined in a large over-stuffed chair by an ambient electric hearth. The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, and Dorian cocked his head to one side, waiting. Finally, with the kind of fluid grace that only vampires possess, the king stood and slowly approached his younger brother. - 28 -

The Third Kiss “Your freedom is very important to you, mon frere. This much, you have made clear many, many times.” His fingers casually grazed the crystal on the end of the leather strap around his neck as he spoke, and Dorian’s eyes followed the movement. “Therefore, I am certain it will come as welcome news to you that you may soon find yourself no longer the only vampire of your kind.” Julien calmly stepped past Dorian’s tall form and moved to the large windows he was so fond of staring out through. “And then I will no longer require your services.” Dorian’s gaze darkened. “So you’ve glimpsed your future queen and plan to raise an army of little Halfling brats. What have I got to do with the equation, Julien?” Dorian asked, trying very hard to keep his voice as neutral as possible, yet failing miserably. Julien turned to regard him, one dark brow arched inquisitively. “Why, you must bring her to me, of course. She is a day-walker, and she lives in a renovated church. Can you believe such a thing? This town, this veritable village she lives in, is practically a commune to Christianity. I am surprised she is not a nun.” Julien seemed just agitated enough by the thought that he ignored Dorian’s insolent tone and turned his back to him once again. “What village would this be?” Dorian asked. “Lubbock. What an ugly name, non? It is in Texas. Approximately ten or eleven hours away,” he turned to face Dorian once again, “as the vampire flies.” Dorian took a deep, slow breath and licked his lips. So, he had to go find someone and bring her back to the mansion. Never mind that it was kidnapping. He’d done worse. He had played every role while in his brother’s service, from assassin to bounty hunter to public relations agent to chauffeur. Kidnapper? Why not? His repertoire was bulky indeed. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and tossed it onto the desk, and then turned and moved to the same overstuffed chair his brother had been sitting in only a few seconds before. He lowered himself into it and intertwined his fingers, laying them casually over his chest. - 29 -

Heather Killough-Walden “All right. Tell me about her.” Julien smiled and moved to sit on the edge of his large, polished mahogany desk. “Her name is Emma Rose Nekoda. As I’ve mentioned, she lives in Texas. She is a photographer, though I am not certain of what.” He paused and looked at the floor. Dorian got the distinct impression that he was searching his recollection for further information. “Her parents are deceased. I could sense that deep sadness immediately, especially for her mother. Pitoyable.” He blinked, remembering further. “I believe her to be around thirty years of age, give or take a few years. I sensed no romantic attachment, though why, I cannot fathom. She is not wealthy, though she soon will be.” Julien looked up at Dorian then and pinned his brother with an ice-cold stare. “You’ll bring her to me by the end of the week, Dorian. I am giving you extra time so that she may come without fear. Bien écouter, mon frere. If you frighten her so that I have no choice but to use force, there will be no forgiveness on my part. Comprendez vous?” Dorian stared back at him for a moment, his body deceptively calm. On the inside, his blood raced unnaturally fast through his veins and his muscles were tensed for a fight. Julien not only wanted him to abduct an innocent, unsuspecting woman, but he also wanted him to try to convince this woman that it was for her own good. Was he insane? In a voice so soft that it utterly belied the aggravation he felt inside, Dorian said “What woman in her right mind would consent to marry a man she had never met and then allow him to impregnate her a hundred times?” Julien didn’t miss a beat. “My queen will. You will use whatever means necessary to convince her that her place is at my side, Dorian. She will be with me a very, very long time, and it can be exhausting demanding the compliance of one who is unwilling to do your bidding.” - 30 -

The Third Kiss Dorian did not miss the double meaning behind that statement. Julien continued. “I’ll not have such a war with my wife. That is why I am giving you a week.” Dorian gazed up at him, his face expressionless, giving nothing away. “And if, in the end, she still won’t come?” “Bring her anyway. Some things must be done the hard way.” With that, Julien moved off of the desk and strode across the study to the door. He turned the knob and then paused. He looked back at his brother. Dorian did not meet his gaze. Instead, he stared out the windows, his handsome face an impassive mask. “Dorian, no other task you have undertaken has been this important. Ne me déçois pas. Don’t disappoint me.” He opened the door and was gone. After a long moment, Dorian rose from the chair and moved to the windows. He was a little fatigued from the drives to and from New Orleans and could have used some rest. However, he was also agitated. Uncomfortable. Several thoughts and images chased each other across his mind. He thought of the woman on the sidewalk, her wild hair a mass of beautiful tangles that blew wistfully about her face. He thought of the unsuspecting woman who would become the French vampire queen within the week, whether she wanted to or not. He thought of himself, of his blasted abilities, and the part they would play in taking away yet another person’s freedom. He would get no sleep this night. He turned from the windows and left the room. Tristan was waiting for him in the foyer. “Are you on your way out again, Dorian? I just put the bike away—”

- 31 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Never mind, Tristan. I won’t be riding. However, I will be out all night. If Julien wonders where I’ve gone, you can tell his majesty that I’ve set about accomplishing his grisly task right away.” Dorian spoke in low, calm tones as he moved quickly through the front doors of the mansion, but there was an acidic bite to his words that Tristan did not miss. “He can contact you, then.” It was a statement, not a question, and one meant as a gentle but necessary reminder of Dorian’s place in the scheme of things. Dorian paused on the front steps and turned the full weight of his gaze on the other vampire. He felt the front pocket of his jeans and then cursed softly. He’d left the cell phone in the study. “I’ll get it, my prince.” “No, I’ll get it.” But the other vampire had already turned to re-enter the house. Dorian called softly after him. “And, Tristan, please don’t call me that.” Tristan stopped on his way back into the house and turned a rather amused, but slightly weary expression on his friend. “Dorian, you are what you are. You carry the king’s blood in your veins. Perhaps it is something you should remind yourself of more often.” Dorian blinked, and as he tried to digest what Tristan had just told him, he watched the stocky vampire turn and disappear into the lighted interior of the mansion. **** Emma ran a hand through her messy hair and forced herself to breathe. She pulled her gaze away from the street where he’d disappeared more than a full minute ago, and closed her eyes. “Wow.” Okay, so he’d been hot. So what? He was gone now and she would most likely never see him again. Men like that didn’t exist in Lubbock, Texas. They existed here, in exotic locales like New

- 32 -

The Third Kiss Orleans, and maybe also in places like Los Angeles or New York or Hollywood. Yes, definitely Hollywood. Plus, he was probably gay. She took another deep breath and let it out in a frustrated sigh. Then she traveled the next twenty yards to the glass store front of her brother’s gallery, and stood before the illuminated windows, staring in. Suddenly, the glass doors swung open and a tall, well-dressed, handsome man with wavy hair much the same color as Emma’s stormed out of the gallery and headed straight toward her. “Emma! You made it!” he moved toward her with open arms, but stopped a few feet away, a concerned expression on his face. “A little the worse for wear, I must admit, but you’re here. That’s what counts.” Then he broke into a huge smile again, bright white teeth flashing in the lamplight, and embraced her in a tight hug. Emma smiled, despite herself, and hugged him back. “Patrick, you look amazing. What did you do, win the lottery or something?” she asked, truly impressed at how put-together he always managed to appear. She felt like the queen of frump standing next to him. “No, sweetie, it’s just plain gay beauty regimen. We always look like this. Didn’t you know?” His smile never wavered. The door opened once again behind them, and another man stepped out. “Sam, hi!” Emma greeted happily. The man smiled warmly at her and embraced them both, encompassing them in a triple bear-hug. He was large enough for it. He stood at least six-footfive, sported a head full of short curly hair, a goatee, and more than a few extra pounds. The extra pounds didn’t make him look fat, so much as large. He reminded Emma of a football player. Off season. - 33 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Sweetheart, how are you?” he asked as the three of them separated and he maneuvered his large form between her and Patrick. He turned his back to Patrick and gripped her shoulders affectionately. He appeared to look her over carefully, as if checking for any signs of wear and tear. “I’m fine, Sam. How are you?” she smiled up at him. “Oh, my dear, you know I’m always on top of things,” he said, his voice a deep timbre that rumbled much like a Harley would. She loved it. She loved Sam. Patrick had never had a man so good. “But let us take this inside. You really do appear to need a drink. I’ll make you a Cosmo, and Patrick can take your bag to the second floor until we head out to the house later.” He lifted the large, heavy satchel off of her shoulder, placed a massive hand at her back and guided her into the gallery, managing to wrap one beefy arm around Patrick’s shoulders at the same time. Patrick peeked around his partner’s large form to wink at his sister. “He’s been worrying about you for the past two hours. If your phone had been on, you would have known that he’s called you at least six times by now.” “That’s why it was off,” Emma answered softly. She wasn’t the kind of person who could ignore others very easily. If a phone rang in her proximity, she had to see it answered. And that was dangerous on the road. Ergo, she had a cell for emergencies, but it was off while she was driving. On their way in, Emma’s gaze wandered. She couldn’t help it. Up on the pristine white walls of the gallery maze were giant blown-up copies of her photographs, each framed in matting that matched perfectly, and wood that was either black or white, polished or rough, in accordance with what best complemented the photograph within its borders. At one point, she actually paused, not able to stop herself from staring up at the shot that had been her favorite.

- 34 -

The Third Kiss She’d called it “The Smoky Eye”. She’d been walking through the bayou, alone, but never having felt less alone in her life. She had been searching, and though the logical part of her mind had no idea what for, the photographer in her simply knew that she would recognize it when she saw it. And then she saw it. She’d pushed aside a stray branch, taken two very quiet steps forward, and then sunk to the ground just in time to catch a blue heron as it exploded from its nestled perch upon the water a few yards away and spread its wings to rise above the fog of the misty New Orleans morning. She’d snapped the lens shut three times before the animal completely disappeared, and this had been the best of the three shots. When she’d enlarged it, she’d realized he was looking straight at her and that his gaze seemed to penetrate the fog, his wings were an angelic blur emerging through the morning haze, the entire background atmosphere one of a dream. It was her favorite photo. “They aren’t officially for sale until tomorrow night, but we’ve already had an offer on this one,” Patrick said. Emma turned to face him, her eyes wide. “You’re kidding!” “Nope. You can see the print from the windows,” he gestured behind them and Emma could see that he was right. “The woman banged on the glass until we let her in. She said she felt she could identify with it. She was ‘in love’ and ‘had to have it’.” Emma blinked up at him. “Did you sell it to her?” “No, that’s your job. Tomorrow night. I told her to get here early.” Emma stared at him another moment and then turned to face the photo again. She gazed into the heron’s unblinking eye. “Amazing.” - 35 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Yes, it is really good.” Sam offered, smiling and nodding. Emma turned and shook her head, her own smiling matching his. “No, I just meant that I can’t believe someone actually wants to buy my work.” Patrick rolled his eyes and Sam threw back his head and laughed. “Honey, you have no idea. Best get used to it. ‘Cuz, if that mere fact shocks you, then when you hear how much she was willing to pay, you’re going to have a coronary.” Emma’s eyes widened even further. Sam put his hand at her back once again and moved her away from the wall before she could say anything further. “We’ll fill you in over dinner, my dear. Now, like I said, you look like you need a drink, and you smell like MacDonald’s French fries.” He handed her bag to Patrick, who flung it over his toned shoulder and turned to head up the metal-railing staircase. “There aren’t many vegan choices on the highway between here and Nowhere Ville,” Emma said sulkily. Truth be told, if she never ate another French fry again, or smelled one for that matter, she truly wouldn’t mind. Sam guided her to a chic white-topped metal-legged stool that abutted a modern wave shaped bar and sat her down. “I’ve no doubt. That’s why we made reservations at The Hookah Café. Chef Alain Vincent Barre is positively divine.” He moved around the bar and began to do something out of sight, beneath the counter-top. She heard the chink of glass on glass and her mouth began to water. “I only worry a little about your current ensemble,” Sam said distractedly, staring at the ketchup stain on her t-shirt. “My ensemble?” “Well, it’s rather…” “Let’s just say, you might want to try out the new shower we had installed up here before we go out,” her brother called from over the railing above them. Emma looked up, and while she was - 36 -

The Third Kiss staring up at Patrick, Sam placed a cocktail glass in her hand. She looked back down and smiled at the beautiful, cold, pink cosmopolitan she held. Sometimes she was positive Sam was magic. “I hope you have something besides jeans in this bag,” Patrick had her attention again. She looked back up at him to find that he had unlaced her satchel and was nosily poking through it. “I don’t,” she said with finality. She really didn’t. She’d planned to buy a dress for the showing while she was here in the Big Easy. Better selection. Much better selection. Patrick stopped poking and looked down at her. He smiled sheepishly. “Jeans it is, then.” Emma placed the glass to her lips and took a very large swallow. It was delicious. “Is there any alcohol in this?” she asked. Sam smiled a sneaky smile. “Oh, that’s the best compliment a bartender can get now, isn’t it? Don’t worry, my sweet. There’s enough in there for you.” Emma would have laughed, but she was too busy taking another drink. She heard Patrick come down the stairs to stand beside her. Sam handed him a drink as well, and then expertly filled his own glass. At once, Emma felt bad for drinking two-thirds of her Cosmo before the other two had theirs in their hands, but when Sam smiled a reassuring smile at her and lifted his glass so that the three of them could toast, she forgot about it and raised her own. “To Emma Rose and her Canon Rebel,” he offered. “To Emma!” Patrick agreed, and the three touched glasses. Emma immediately downed the remainder of her drink, and Sam followed suit. Patrick had half a Cosmo left and shook his head reprimandingly at them. “What a couple of lushes.” “I prefer ‘dipsomaniac’,” Sam corrected. “Sot,” Emma offered. - 37 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Carouser.” “Souse.” “Oh, shut up and have another drink.” Patrick laughed, and then finished off his own.

- 38 -

The Third Kiss

Chapter Three Dorian leaned over the edge of the roof on which he was perched and listened. She was coming out of the restaurant, two large men in tow. One looked remarkably like her, and he realized that the man must be her brother. The other was a giant of a human, with dark curly hair, a mustache, and a goatee. They were laughing. Dorian sniffed the air. They’d been drinking. Even his angel was happily relaxed. The restaurant they’d been in was famous for its molasses-dipped tobacco, and the aroma clung to the three revelers as they left the venue. However, beneath the cloying smell, Dorian could easily make out the clean scent of the shampoo in her hair, even from this distance. She had very recently bathed. He took a slow, deep breath and curled his hands into fists. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. He should be off tracking down Julien’s love slave. But he had a week to find the woman, and right now, Dorian had an itch to scratch. He could think of little else but the woman from his dream. He wasn’t sure why she had the effect on him that she did. He’d seen more physically beautiful women before. At least, more physically “perfect”. He’d seen women who had been Photo-Shopped to the point that their skin appeared down-right unbelievable. He’d met his fair share of models at fund-raising events and charity auctions and those blasted parties that his duties as his brother’s face-man demanded he attend. There was a counterfeit symmetry to their features that screamed of plastic and shallowness. And he’d never been overly impressed with their mystifying inability to eat anything with calories in it, either. Dorian blinked and shifted on the roof as the object of his observation moved steadily down the street. He cocked his head to one side, tuning his unnatural hearing to the trio below.

- 39 -

Heather Killough-Walden “… not likely, but maybe we’ll just head up to Vermont, red-neck republicans be damned,” the tall blonde man muttered. Though he spoke of something that Dorian sensed was important to him, his manner remained chiefly jovial. The woman smiled and shook her head. “Patrick, you would never leave this city. You’d never leave your gallery. And nothing could get you out of that house. When it survived Katrina without a scratch, you decided it was haunted. By mom and dad. You’ll be there forever.” “She’s right, Patrick,” said the large one. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t take a vacation to Europe some day. England, Belgium…We don’t even have to travel abroad if we don’t want to, though I have always wanted to see Paris.” “True, Canada recognizes civil partnerships as well. But, would such a union be recognized in the US when you returned?” the woman asked. Dorian’s gaze lightened and took on an unnatural luminescence as he listened to the sound of her voice. She was doing something to him, getting under his skin. The other two were silent for a moment, looks of consternation on their faces. Then the blonde man stopped in his tracks and ran a hand through his hair. “Jeez, you know, I actually don’t know?” The woman laughed and shook her head. “Come on, Patrick. I smell coffee. I want a cup before we head to the house. I’ve been dying for a good cup of coffee since I left Lubbock this morning.” Dorian’s gaze narrowed. Lubbock? Had he heard her correctly? It was coincidence. Nothing more. “Emma, your ability to down caffeine mere moments before your head hits the pillow will never cease to amaze me,” her brother told her as they resumed their walk.

- 40 -

The Third Kiss Dorian’s breath caught. His heart skipped. He stood from where he’d been crouching on the ledge of the roof and his eyes began to glow. No. Emma…Not— “I’m just an amazing woman, Patrick. When will you simply accept that?” The large man laughed and Dorian watched as he took Patrick’s hand in his and their fingers entwined. “She’s right, Patrick. Emma Rose Nekoda, photographer extraordinaire and keeper of secrets.” The large man turned his smile on their female companion, and she shot him a proud look over her shoulder. “Heaven only knows what marvel she will reveal to the world next!” He laughed, and, again, the woman shook her head. Dorian reeled back from the edge of the roof and clutched his hand to his chest. He stumbled backwards, took several faltering steps, and then crashed to his knees again, his vision going red. No. It can’t be. It just can’t be! But it was. That was why he’d dreamed of her. He understood now. It was why he had felt compelled to return to New Orleans this night, to watch her from this very roof top. She was Julien’s prophesied queen. His dream angel, with the golden hair and almond brown eyes, was Julien’s bride. He had to kidnap her and turn her over to his brother. Oh, hell no. Oh, no. No. Fucking. Way. Dorian closed his eyes tight and fought the urge to throw back his head and bellow into the night. He felt his fangs lengthen and he bit down into his own lip, instantly drawing blood. He let

- 41 -

Heather Killough-Walden the blood drip, the pain helping him to focus, to keep him out of the blinding rage, the seething storm that thundered closer and closer in his ear drums. Julien’s queen. “Emma Rose,” he said aloud, letting the name roll across his tongue like a salve. The two large holes that his fangs had pierced into his lips began to heal immediately. The palms of his hands hurt and he glanced down at them. He’d taken off his gloves back at the mansion. His bare fists were curled tight. He released them, noticing that they were shaking, and more blood seeped from the wounds that his extended claws had carved into the palms of his hands. He forced himself to take several slow, deep breaths and then stood once again. With the trained practice of one who had carried out unpleasant tasks for several centuries, Dorian switched something off inside of himself. It was more difficult than it usually was, and Dorian felt, strangely, as if the switch were sticky, somehow, and would not fall completely into place. He mentally shoved at it, however, until it was jammed where it needed to be. Where he needed it to be. And then, as if on auto-pilot, he moved to the edge of the roof and peered down. The trio had crossed the street and was headed toward a part of town Dorian had never been fond of. He leapt from the roof top, landing silently on another roof a block away. There, he turned and watched Emma and her companions draw near. From the darkness of an alley to his right, Dorian sensed movement. They were only two alleys away from where he had caught the rapist earlier that night and fed on him. Dorian’s eyes flashed red and his vision adjusted accordingly. The darkness of the alley lightened and he saw the three men within its interior as if in broad daylight. Dorian shifted his attention fully and smelled the acrid stench of anesthetic, lighter fluid, and methadone. He watched as one man leaned against the alley wall and held out his arm. His companion tied him off above the elbow, and Dorian’s lips curled into a sneer. He listened. - 42 -

The Third Kiss “…Man, I know that Raspberry’s gonna spill.” “You’re Tweaking, Rog’. Just breathe, man.” “Hey, watch it with the rigging. Don’t backtrack on me this time.” “Just chill, would you?” came a hissed reply. Dorian watched as a needled descended to the man’s bound arm. Bright laughter caused him to turn his head. Emma was drawing nearer. The men in the alley looked up toward the entrance of their den, obviously having caught the sound as well. Dorian’s muscles tensed. He prepared to leap from the roof and kill, for a second time that night. The big man with Emma chuckled softly, and then, suddenly and without warning, Emma came to a dead halt. Her two companions ploughed into her and almost knocked her over. Patrick caught her before she would have stumbled forward, and held her upright. “What’s wrong?” “I don’t know,” she said softly. Her brows drew together and her gaze narrowed. The expression on her lovely face was a nearly palpable mixture of suspicion and trepidation. Dorian’s gaze narrowed as well. He watched her carefully. Did she know? Could she sense that danger waited a mere twenty yards away? And if she could, which danger was it that she sensed—the danger from the men in the alley—or the danger from him? He looked from her to the druggies hidden in the shadows. They had begun to move further into the darkness, for their part, not necessarily desiring any kind of run-in with uninvited guests at the moment. He looked back at Emma. She blinked. - 43 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Guys, I suddenly don’t really feel like having that coffee after all.” Patrick glanced over at his large companion, and the big man met his gaze. They seemed to communicate wordlessly for a moment, and then the taller man nodded in silence. “No problem, Emma. Let’s head back to the gallery. We’ll get your stuff and go home. We have a big day tomorrow anyway,” Sam said. Emma turned and looked up at her companions. None of them spoke for a moment. And then she smiled. It was a tired smile, but beautiful in its sincerity. “Thanks, Sam. I’d like that.” Sam and Patrick nodded again and the three of them turned around and headed back the way they’d come. Dorian stood still and watched them leave. Every nerve in his body had hummed to life. He was as still as death. He had no earthly idea what to think of what had just transpired. His mind was a veritable jumble of fucked-up thoughts and emotions at the moment, and he didn’t know whether he could even trust himself to leave the rooftop. So, instead, he sat down right there on the black tiled panels and leaned up against the brick and cement chimney that sprouted from its side. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He could still feel her down there. Her consciousness was like a faint perfume, pleasant and drifting, slowly wafting further and further away. In a few moments, he would no longer be able to locate her. He opened his eyes and ran a hand through is hair. Then he stood, focused on pin-pointing their exact location, and once again took to the night sky. **** Patrick walked in silence behind his sister, his hand comfortably entwined with his partner’s. He and Sam had been together for going on three years, and thus far, his sister’s “feminine intuition” had saved them both on at least one verifiable occasion. From that rainy day on, neither - 44 -

The Third Kiss he nor Sam had questioned when she suddenly had one of her odd “feelings” or her mood changed without warning. Her mood had changed that way, one night, fifteen years ago. It was the night their parents had died. She’d asked their mother not to leave, or at least, to take the car instead of the bike. Patrick shut his eyes for a brief moment, allowing Sam to guide him along the sidewalk, and then re-opened them, having sufficiently and with practiced skill, pushed the memories from the forefront of his mind. “Guys, I just realized that I sort of imposed on you. You want me to stay in the gallery? You’ve got the guest room completely set up now.” Emma spoke to them over her shoulder as she walked slowly in front. “Wouldn’t hear of it, sweetheart. If anyone should stay in the gallery, it should be me,” Sam replied. “In fact, that may not be a bad idea. With the show tomorrow, the gallery’s full. And we haven’t had the window bars installed yet.” Patrick glanced over at him. It’s true that the gallery would seem less of a target for theft with resident lights on in the building, and a hulking shadow passing before the windows every now and then, but the thought of Sam staying alone in the district still left Patrick slightly uneasy. “The store will be fine, Sam. Let’s all stay at the house tonight. Besides, we had the alarm system installed last Tuesday. And everything’s insured.” The three of them fell into silence then. As they walked, Emma thought silently to herself. She knew that her brother, and even her brother’s partner, understood that she’d had one of her gut intuitions a few minutes ago, and neither of them had said anything about it. They’d trusted her, and she was more grateful than she could say for such trust.

- 45 -

Heather Killough-Walden But something about the situation felt unresolved within her. She didn’t quite feel as if she had totally avoided whatever menace it had been that she’d sensed. In fact, she still felt uneasy. As if it were following her around. On impulse, she glanced behind her. Patrick and Sam smiled down at her. She smiled back. And then she turned to look across the street. A couple were making out beneath the misty light of a lamp post. A homeless man adjusted the curled-up jacket beneath his head on the sidewalk. A dog sniffed at some garbage in the gutter. It was all normal New Orleans French Quarter scenery. She could smell the mixture of coffee grounds and day-old beignets, rotting vegetation and even a bit of urine. Her skin had already acquired a thin sheen of sticky moisture from the humidity in the air. Ahead of them, the muted sound of jazz poured from the closed doors of a late-night oyster bar. She bit her lip nervously. Something was riding her. Close behind, all around. It was unmistakable, this feeling that she was being watched. Without realizing she’d decided to do so, she looked up. A shadow crossed the moon. She blinked, looked again, and it was gone. She looked back down at the pavement in front of her and they rounded the corner of the street where the gallery was located. She just needed some sleep. She felt like even her bones had been drained of strength, and, despite the two Cosmos and the annoying yet potent smoke in the Hookah Café, she could still feel a twinge of muscle cramp in her bottom from the long drive. They reached the door of the gallery, and Sam moved closer to her as Patrick fished the keys from his pocket and let them in. Within a few short minutes, they’d gathered what they needed, set the alarm, shut off the lights, and closed and locked the gallery door behind them.

- 46 -

The Third Kiss In another five minutes, they’d reached the garage where Sam’s Toyota Highlander Hybrid was parked and they climbed inside. The interior had that wonderful new car aroma and was roomy enough, even for Sam’s hulking shape. She suspected it was part of the reason he’d purchased it—that and the fact that it was a hybrid. Sam Upshaw was a self-proclaimed “Greenie”, and proud of it. But despite the great smell and relative comfort of the vehicle, Emma had to suppress a moan when her body automatically fought the pull of the familiar shape of a bucket seat against her back and legs. She was so sick of cars at the moment that she would almost rather walk the three and a half miles to the house. Almost. That distracting feeling that danger was near, cloying and unshakable, still hung about her like a shroud. She took a deep breath, let it out in a silent sigh, and tilted her head back against the soft head rest of the back seat of the SUV. “Hang in there, Emm. I’ll have us there in five minutes.” Sam glanced at her through his rearview mirror, and she managed a reassuring smile at his reflection. He started the car, and they left the garage, Sam flashing some kind of pass at the garage attendant as they drove through. They drove in silence, Emma gazing out the window at the Louisiana night. Neon signs tempted the drunk, the lonely, and the very young with promises of scantily clad beautiful women, and drink specials that became more and more economical as the hours of the night grew long. Never see anything like this in Lubbock, she thought to herself as they passed a gangly man dressed as a woman, and barely so. Coming from a dry county, it was stark for her to pass by so many corner liquor stores as they made their way through the back streets of the Quarter and into residential areas. - 47 -

Heather Killough-Walden Emma barely batted an eye when Sam flicked on the automatic locks on all four car doors as they passed through a rougher neighborhood and then hopped on an on-ramp for the highway. The house may only be three and a half miles away, but the easiest and fastest way to get there was still Highway 90. There were too many one-way roads to bypass between here and there to settle for a more direct route. Emma closed her eyes and tried to relax, but she still couldn’t shake the dark shadow of a feeling that danger followed closely behind her. She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. I just need some sleep, she thought to herself. I wonder if my room’s changed much… **** Dorian couldn’t believe how perceptive the woman was. She’d almost seen him when she’d glanced up at one point. But he was fast, and he’d managed to avoid complete detection. Now he followed above the SUV, at a safe distance, moving through the nighttime sky, in and out of clouds that left his clothes drenched and his skin cold. The new silver Highlander traveled west for a while and then turned off of the highway, onto Napoleon Avenue, through several smaller streets and into the Touro neighborhood, nestled between Uptown and the Garden District. Finally, they slowed before the u-drive of a small but well appointed antebellum home. A modern garage had been added to one side, and the door slid open with barely a squeak. It must have been kept well-oiled, which only made sense in the humid climate of Louisiana. The Toyota pulled into the empty space of the two slots within, and the door closed behind it. Dorian landed on a large, sturdy branch of an oak tree across the street from the home. Thick Spanish moss hung from the limbs all around him and swayed gently in the nighttime breeze. He

- 48 -

The Third Kiss watched as the interior lights of the house switched on, one after another. After a few minutes, they began to switch back off. When the last had gone dark, Dorian looked down, contemplating the situation. He needed rest. He needed a plan, a heap of resolve he didn’t currently feel, and a numbness that simply would not set it. He was too tired to force himself to concentrate on achieving any of these things at the moment, so he took to the skies again and headed directly back to the apartment and garage owned by Adalard Enterprises. He would figure something out tomorrow. He only prayed he wouldn’t dream tonight. **** Julien Adalard turned as Tristan Montague entered the room behind him and gently knocked on the open door. “Enter, Tristan. What have you learned?” “A little, my lord. As you said, her parents are both deceased, as are all of her grandparents. However, she has family in an older brother. His name is Patrick Nekoda. He lives in New Orleans and owns an art gallery in the Quarter.” Julien’s brow rose in interest. This was news. “Are they close?” “Yes, my lord. They are quite close. In fact, Mr. Nekoda is displaying his sister’s work at the moment. And tomorrow night, there is to be a showing. I believe Emma Rose is scheduled to attend.” Julien stared at the other vampire for a long moment, and then moved to his desk and sat down in the large leather chair behind it. Tomorrow night, his queen would be less than an hour away. Within reach. Well after the sun had gone down.

- 49 -

Heather Killough-Walden He had already sent his half-brother out after the woman. Was Dorian an entire state away at the moment, oblivious to the fact that the prize he sought was most likely preparing to make a trip in the opposite direction? He considered calling him. But he knew that it had been a while since Dorian had rested. If he was going to be of any real use to Julien, the half-vampire needed sleep. He reflected on his options. A delegate from King Voronoi’s court was scheduled to arrive tomorrow night to discuss a few loose affairs of state. He could cancel the meeting and deal with Emma himself. But Lord Aleksei Voronoi would most likely become suspicious. And then his future queen would be jeopardized. The leaders of the other vampire factions in the world would fight tooth and nail to be the first to acquire a queen capable of giving them half-vampire children. It had been a rarely spoken-of, but highly anticipated notion for more than two centuries. The first to secure such a commodity would possess the means with which to create a half-vampire legion before anyone else did. These would be vampires like Dorian, able to walk in daylight, appearing entirely mortal, yet capable of killing with a speed and efficiency that only those of immortal blood could manage. Julien’s children would be unstoppable. And they would be entirely under his control. There was also the added bonus of any possible grandchildren. No one dared to wonder aloud what kinds of powers the offspring of half-vampires might possess. Julien hoped to one day find out. As did every other vampire king in existence. And, even after all this time, some of the vampire kings of the world had yet to purge the impulse for territory subjugation from their very ancient veins. Julien was convinced that Lord Voronoi was one such vampire.

- 50 -

The Third Kiss He was powerful and ruthless and Julien trusted him as much as he trusted any contender for dominance in the vampire realm. This was to say, not at all. In attempts to gain the upper hand against leaders he could only see as threats, the Russian vampire lord had managed a political faux pas on more than one occasion, his indiscretions going so far as to cost more than a few vampire lives. Julien had lost a few very trusted servants because of Aleksei. For the sake of keeping their existence under mortal radar and maintaining the thin-ice veneer of peace that currently existed between the different vampire factions, Julien had played along when the incidents had been conveniently explained away as accidents, missteps, and the foolish blunders of subservients either new to their posts or lacking in proper political etiquette. Julien knew the truth, of course, as did every other vampire king in the United States. Aleksei Voronoi was an impatient and acquisitive man, and a very old, very powerful vampire. No, Julien could not cancel the meeting. He would have to contact Dorian later and allow the half-vampire to bring Emma to him as planned. Come to think of it, it was fortunate that Julien had given Dorian a week to secure the future queen, for if he’d brought her to the mansion while Voronoi’s representatives were present, who knows what chaos might have ensued. Julien looked up, pulled from his thoughts by the fidgeting of the vampire who still stood across the room, awaiting the king’s reply or orders. “You’ve done well, Tristan.” He rose. “I’ll be going out tonight. Have preparations made for Voronoi’s delegates tomorrow night.” Julien moved around the desk and approached the door. Tristan opened it for him and stepped aside. “I recalled that you had a function to attend this eve, my liege. A car has been pulled around.” Julien nodded at Tristan and then left the room. He had a party to grace with his presence this night, a matter of public display of social participation. He was certain to find something - 51 -

Heather Killough-Walden satisfying to dine on while he was there. Normally, such a thought would fill him with a vague sense of eagerness, despite the fact that it was how he had fed for hundreds of years. But tonight, it paled in comparison to the promise of what awaited him when Dorian’s task was completed. He smiled to himself and did not bother to hide the fangs that showed clearly in the bright light of the chandelier in the giant foyer. Two guards dressed in Armani suits opened the front doors of the mansion for him and he descended the stairs to the car that was waiting below. He presented an imposing figure of power as he moved with inhuman grace to the side of the black stretch Lincoln. His fine tailored suit was cut perfectly to his tall, strong body, and his ravenblack hair fell in silky waves to just past his shoulders, appearing for all the world as if at least three professional hair dressers had spent hours to make it look as it did. His cold blue eyes glowed unnaturally in the handsome frame of his face, and his sensuous lips were curled into a slight smile that reflected some pleasant, but secret, internal thought. The door to the limo was being held open by a very large vampire whose suit looked as if it would rip, should the man flex any of his plentiful muscles. The giant man bowed respectfully as Julien approached. The king climbed gracefully inside, and the door was shut gently behind him. He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. He thought of the woman in his dream. Eyes like amber and chocolate, lips like the petals of a Garibaldi rose… In the dream, as he had been following closely behind her through the bayou of New Orleans, he’d studied her with abandon. Her long golden hair fell in loose waves to her mid-back and curled around her face in the Louisiana humidity. She’d appeared ethereal, yet strong. She’d moved with practiced grace and ease through the underbrush, obviously not wanting to scare whatever it was she had been following.

- 52 -

The Third Kiss And when he’d seen her in that thin shift of a gown crossing a ballroom below him, his gums had ached with the need to feed. In so many ways. Her face was the very image of innocent strength, her body a promise unlike anything he could have imagined. She was his salvation. He would stop at nothing to have her. Nothing.

- 53 -

Heather Killough-Walden

Chapter Four I hate it. It clings to my thighs.” “Emma, you have delicious thighs, sweetheart. Men want to see something cling to your thighs. Buy the dress.” Emma shook her head, an absolute “no” on the tip of her tongue when Patrick came around the corner to join them, and Sam spoke up again before she could say anything. “Patrick, tell your sister she looks beautiful. She insists on wearing tents—everything she tries on is two sizes too large for her frame. This dress actually fits and she isn’t listening to me.” Patrick smiled a wry smile and turned to regard his little sister. He cocked his head to one side, ignoring the scathing look of warning she was shooting him in the mirror. It was a gorgeous shift of a dress, in a sparkling charcoal material that clung to her in places he knew straight men would greatly appreciate. “He’s right, sis. The dress actually fits, and he has way better taste than you do. I would buy the dress. Besides, it’s definitely your color.” “Gray? Gray is my color? And, I already told Sam, it makes my thighs look too big. And it’s too expensive.” She’d said it without meaning to, and heat rushed into her cheeks. It was the money that was truly bothering her, in all honesty. She’d seen the price tag, despite the fact that Sam had tried his best to hide it as he’d handed the dress to her to try on. It was way out of her price range, and she had bills to pay. Emma hated wasting money on something she felt, in her heart, was overpriced, and especially when she wasn’t going to get much use out of it. She would wear the dress for one lousy night and never take it out of her closet again. Where the hell in Lubbock could one wear a dress like this? Church? They would burn her at the stake. And besides, she was an atheist.

- 54 -

The Third Kiss As if he could read her mind, Patrick sighed and leaned against the mirror, crossing his arms over his chest. “It isn’t too expensive, Sis. You pay for what you get and the dress is gorgeous. You deserve it. Besides, your birthday’s coming up. I’ll get it for you and I won’t have to worry about forgetting the date later on. Deal?” “Take the deal, Emma. You and I both know your legs look nothing but great. And, by the way, it isn’t ‘gray’, it’s ‘Cinereal’, and a beautiful shade of it, at that.” Emma speared Sam with an exasperated look and then rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Fine. You guys win.” When she ducked back into the changing room and carefully pulled the dress off, she found that she was smiling. The material felt like satin and silk and stardust all mixed into one, and the guys had been right, gray was her color. Or “Cinereal”, rather. Whatever it was, it set off the golden shimmer in her hair and sparked the amber to life in her eyes. She’d never owned an article of clothing this expensive before. Unexpectedly, it made her feel quite good. As if she was worth it. She daintily hung the dress back on the hanger, pulled on her jeans and t-shirt, and slipped back into her flip flops. She picked the hanger up by its metal hook and stepped out of the room. Patrick took one look at her and cracked a knowing smile. Emma didn’t bother to hide her pleasure any longer. She blushed and held the dress out to him. “Okay, I admit it. It looks good. And,” she added, as Patrick took the dress and the three of them moved to the register together, “thank you, Patrick. I love my birthday present.” Patrick’s smile widened even further and he whipped out a platinum credit card. “Don’t thank me yet. We aren’t done. You owe me for this dress,” he told her. Emma’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

- 55 -

Heather Killough-Walden “I mean, we have to go shoe shopping now, because there’s no way in hell you’re wearing flip flops with that glorious work of art, and in exchange for paying for the dress, you have to let me pick out and buy the shoes—no arguments.” He turned and pinned her with a no-nonsense gaze. “Deal?” She blinked and pursed her lips together to keep from saying anything. The man had a shoe fetish, and she knew the kinds of shoes he preferred. He simply could not pass buy a shoe store window without crooning over the high heels and ultra-high heels on display. Not that he actually bought or paraded around in any of them. Though, she wouldn’t be surprised to find a pair or two in the back of his closet…He simply knew how to appreciate them. He knew all of the designers, when their new lines came out, and had even made the personal acquaintance of a famous designer or two on occasion. They were usually very beautiful, she had to admit. Patrick, like Sam, had excellent taste. But they were high heels! Usually, very high heels. Again, it was something she never wore, never had the occasion to wear, and, after tomorrow night, would most likely sit in her closet, untouched for months on end, until the fashion was simply out-dated, and the vast amount of money spent on them would be wasted. On impulse, and despite the fact that she truly tried not to, she opened her mouth to object. But he cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing dangerously and his expression turning to one of warning. Sam laughed beside them and clapped his partner on the back. “I love that look,” the big man said, “When he gives me that at home, I know I’m in for a long night. No arguing with him, Emma. He’s buying the shoes, whether you like it or not.” Emma closed her mouth again and took a deep breath. “Okay, you win. Again. But I get to pick where we eat lunch, and I’m buying.” She countered. - 56 -

The Third Kiss Patrick seemed to mull this over for a moment. He looked over at Sam and Sam shrugged, smiling an amused smile. He turned back to his sister and finally nodded. “Deal.” **** Dorian smiled, despite himself. He’d lived too many years to care any longer about whether or not it was proper to eaves-drop on people, so he’d listened in on Emma’s conversation with her brother and her brother’s partner with abandon. He’d been watching the exchange from across the street, through the large glass window of the clothing boutique. None of them had noticed him there yet, as he was seated in one of the wrought-iron chairs beneath the awning of a small café, and he ducked his face behind a newspaper any time any of them looked out the windows, in his direction. But he’d caught sight of her in that dress, and if he had been gay, he would have French-kissed her brother for forcing her to buy it. Of course, he wagered, he wouldn’t have found her as desirable if he’d been gay, dress or not. Still, he’d never seen a woman look so radiant. There was something about Emma Rose that simply glowed, and when she was draped in that dress, she looked like nothing short of a goddess. How she had managed to get that incredible golden glow to her skin while wearing jeans everywhere was beyond him. She must have been born with it. Come to think of it, her brother sported much the same coloring. But on Emma, it was enhanced by a kind of all-over shimmer, as if microscopic shavings of glitter were embedded in her flesh. And when Patrick had insisted on buying her shoes to match the dress, he could only imagine what the man’s exquisite taste would don upon her perfect feet. Even in flip-flops, her narrow, tanned feet were charming. He could imagine them in strappy heels, and the thought made him shift in his chair, his jeans having suddenly become uncomfortably taut.

- 57 -

Heather Killough-Walden As the three came out of the boutique, Dorian ducked once again behind the newspaper, and then, when they turned and made their way down the sidewalk, he stood and followed at a discreet distance. He was waiting for an opportunity to get her alone, but being rather intelligent men, her two companions had yet to leave her side. They’d lived in New Orleans long enough to know that a woman like Emma was a veritable magnet for trouble. She looked just innocent enough, just pure enough, and her radiance was impossible to ignore. But if he didn’t get the chance soon, he would have to take matters into his own hands. He knew how to create a diversion, to separate a crowd, to break a group of targets up until he had access to them one-on-one. He had a lot of experience in such matters. Too much, for his taste. “Guys, look!” Emma stopped and pointed at something in a window they were passing. “Oh my god, he’s so precious…” Her voice trailed away as she just about pressed her face up against the glass in palpable interest. “Aw…” Sam and Patrick peered into the window along with her, and the burly man’s face softened into an adoring expression. “He really is. Looks like they were giving some away free… He must be the last. Kind of a runt.” Dorian had stopped several yards away and watched, unseen, from the overhang of a shop three doors down. He wondered what they were staring at. Whatever it was, it had Emma’s full and undivided attention. He was suddenly, strangely jealous. He also had the inexplicable urge to obtain whatever it was she was so enamored with, just so that he could hold it out in front of him and have her look in his direction with that kind of adoration. “Oh my god, you guys, I would give just about anything at this moment to not be allergic to cats. I would so take him home with me.”

- 58 -

The Third Kiss Patrick shook his head admonishingly, but his smile was indulgent. “I just know you would, Em. Mom should have named you Frances. Patron saint of the animals.” He lovingly placed an arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently away from the window. “I would ask you if you wanted to go in and say ‘hi’, but I know what the answer would be, and then you would poof up and get all snotty and I have no Kleenex on me at the moment. Plus, I know I wouldn’t get you out of there again without the kitten in tow. And we both know what a mistake that would be.” Dorian listened, his unnatural hearing bringing their conversation to him as clearly as if he were standing beside them. Now he knew what it was that Emma had been staring at. As her brother pulled her away, she seemed to want to protest for a moment, obviously torn between wanting to remain within visual range of the animal and knowing that it simply was not meant to be. Finally, she relented, and the three continued on their way. There was a very obvious slump to Emma’s shoulders now. Dorian thought to himself for a moment, considering carefully. And then he let his mental feelers out and gently, quietly, entered her mind. She was honestly and truly disappointed—no, angry—that she was allergic to cats. Her thoughts kept returning to the cat in the window. As he passed the same window they’d stared into, he caught sight of the tiny kitten. Its tail was short and crooked, and it was most definitely a runt. He could sense that it had been in the box, in the window, all morning. He turned his attention back to the woman several yards in front of him. He entered her mind once again. She really liked cats. She loved them, in fact, as she did all animals. She was a vegan and had participated, even donated to, various spaying and neutering programs for stray cats and dogs across the country. Dorian cocked his head to one side and studied his mark with deep interest. - 59 -

Heather Killough-Walden She had a real weak spot for animals. A weakness. Under normal circumstances, a weakness in one of his targets was a boon, something to exploit, to use against them, and add to his collection of weapons. In this situation, however, it made him uneasy. He didn’t like the idea of Emma having such an obvious Achilles’ heel. Why was that? And, as he watched her smile at a man who passed with a large bulldog that sniffed at her and wagged its tail, he figured it out. Julien would use this against her. Should Dorian take her to the mansion and should she decide to defy the king, Julien would begin an assault on her senses the likes of which she never would have imagined possible. He would read her thoughts, plunder her memories and deepest desires, and turn her will power inside out through a meticulous, systematic, methodical manipulation of her every longing, and her every fear. The realization came unbidden that, as a vampire, she would no longer be allergic to cats. She would bear no ailment or disorder or affliction whatsoever. The knowledge brought him to a dead halt in his tracks. Julien would turn her, for certain, because the gypsy woman had been adamant about the fact that each king’s prophesied queen would be able to bear him half-vampire children whether she, herself, were mortal or not. And the longer Emma lived, the more children she could bear. Dorian had to turn away from Emma and her companions. He focused his attention on the newspaper vending machine beside him. He tried to read the headlines, tried to direct his thoughts to anything but the possibility that the turning of that particular woman into a vampire, as Julien so wanted to do, could possibly bring about anything good. He didn’t want Julien to be right. He didn’t want the sovereign vampire to win. - 60 -

The Third Kiss He didn’t want his brother to have any ammunition with which to convince Emma Rose Nekoda to join him as his queen. Especially something as innocent and unsuspecting as a godforsaken kitten. Dorian braced his hands on the sides of the metal display case and closed his eyes. His jaw was clenched, and his gums ached. He needed to calm down. Peripherally, he felt Emma’s presence moving further away. He straightened and turned in their direction once again. They went a few yards further and came to a stop. Patrick motioned them into a shoe store, and Emma squared her shoulders, as if to prepare herself for the worst. Dorian took a slow, steady breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Are you lost, gorgeous?” a soft feminine voice came from behind him. He turned his head to regard the woman. She was fairly tall, well-dressed, and attractive. Her shoulder-length black hair was expertly cut and framed her face in a very flattering manner. Her blue eyes sparkled in the noon-day sun. She smiled at him, boldly, and her straight white teeth gleamed. Her left arm carried a small clutch and cell phone, and draped over her right arm were several shopping bags from high-end retailers. He smiled back at her. On any other day, in any other city, at any other moment in his incredibly long life, he would have taken this opportunity and run with it. Women were attracted to him, and there wasn’t a single bone in his body that minded. However, today, and at that very moment, he felt bizarrely…bereft. He was just not as interested as he would otherwise be. It was not a feeling or emotion he was at all accustomed to. His smile never wavered. He turned his body to face her fully and pinned her to the spot with a powerful gaze. Her eyes glossed over, and her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “Sweetheart, you have no idea.” - 61 -

Heather Killough-Walden With a gentle push, he breached any mental defenses she had and suggested she forget all about him. She gazed up at him for a few more seconds and then she managed to look away from him. Her gaze focused on something in the distance, down the street. She moved around his tall form and slowly walked away. He watched her leave, and as she crossed the street and disappeared in a crowd of tourists, he shook his head. This wasn’t good. Emma Rose Nekoda had done something to him. The woman was trouble. He needed to finish this job, before it finished him. He pulled his gaze away from the throng of people down the street and retraced his steps to the store where the kitten played in a cardboard box in the window. He watched it for a few seconds and then made up his mind. He went inside. **** “Perfect.” “You know, I think this time, I have to agree with you.” She couldn’t help it. The shoes were perfect. The silver heels wrapped around her feet with sparkling straps that seemed to set off a glow to her golden skin. They wound around her ankles low and made her legs appear longer. At three and a half inches, the heels weren’t so high that they made her teeter precariously, and yet they were high enough to accentuate the muscles in her calves. And they weren’t leather. She was suddenly immensely grateful that she’d taken the time to give herself a pedicure before leaving Lubbock. “Then we’re done. And not a moment too soon. I’m positively famished.” Sam took the box from Patrick’s hands and re-packed the shoes as Emma slipped them back off. She slid into her flip-flops and let her brother help her up off of the floor.

- 62 -

The Third Kiss They headed directly to the counter and Patrick paid for the shoes quickly and efficiently. As the sales woman placed the box in a carry-out bag, he turned to his sister and asked, “So, where are we eating?” “Angeli. They make a good cheese-less veggie pizza, and I know Sam will love their veggie burgers.” Patrick chuckled softly and turned to regard his large partner. Sam smiled a knowing smile and looked down at Emma. Her brows drew together. “What?” “It’s one of Sam’s favorite places. In fact, the veggie burger from Angeli is one of his favorite things in the world to eat. Some days, I can’t get the smell of veggie burger out of the gallery,” Patrick told her as he put a hand at her back and guided her out of the little store. Emma turned to regard Sam, pleasant surprise evident on her face. “Fantastic! But remember, I’m buying.” “No argument from me, my dear.” Sam told her in his deep timbre of a voice. And since they all seemed to know the way, they wasted no time in getting to lunch. **** “We found her. We know where she likes to shop. So what? What do we do now?” “Nothing. We’re not to approach her. We’re just supposed to observe. Mikhail is sending someone else in at nightfall.” “Okay. So, what, we just sit here and do nothing all day?” “We observe, moron. And, thus far, you’re failing miserably. You haven’t even noticed that she’s being followed.” The smaller man’s brows drew together and he focused more carefully on the woman across the street. She was accompanied by two men, but he didn’t notice anyone else following her. - 63 -

Heather Killough-Walden “You’re tripping. I don’t see anyone.” “You wouldn’t. He’s very good.” The taller man stood then and brushed the crumbs off of his lap. He picked up the paper plate that had held the funnel cake he’d just finished, and tossed it and his napkin in the trash receptacle behind him. The smaller, brown-haired man beside him just watched. “Let’s go. We need to report back. Mikhail will want to know about the blonde guy.” “Blonde guy? You mean her brother” The taller man turned a hard gaze on his companion and his jaw clenched. “No.” He sighed. “Never mind. Just throw your trash and let’s get back to H.Q.” **** Dorian leaned against the door jamb of the bedroom door in one of the suites above his vast garage and watched the tiny animal as it stumbled about the room, its diminutive but incredibly sharp claws sticking in the carpet as it went. The kitten sniffed the corner of the bed. Then he sniffed the leg of the chair at the desk against one wall. Then the doors to the closet. And then his claws got stuck again and he tumbled over onto his side. Dorian watched as the kitten leapt back onto all four legs and yanked his forepaw free of the cloying threads of the rug beneath him. And then the baby cat meowed and Dorian bent, picked him up, and set him back down in front of the bowl of milk he’d set out for him. The cat sniffed at the edges of the metal bowl, and then, clumsily, dunked the front half of his face into the milk. Stunned by the cold, and a little shocked at being wet, the cat jumped back and swatted at his nose. Dorian laughed. And then he blinked. He hadn’t laughed like that in a very, very long time.

- 64 -

The Third Kiss He stared down at the charcoal gray kitten. It was a male, and he had eyes the color of gray glass, two shades lighter than his fur. He turned them up at the vampire and blinked slowly. Then the kitten turned back around and made another attempt at the milk. This time, he moved in more cautiously. He was a fast learner. Dorian watched him for several moments more and then, after double checking that the cat knew exactly where the litter box was, he closed the door behind him and moved down the hall to the living room. He strode across the plush carpet to a door on the far end. He opened the door and descended a stairwell to another door. He opened the second door and walked into his garage. He flicked on the switch and looked over the motorcycles. After a moment of reflection, he chose the Night Rod. He moved to the opposite wall and pulled a black leather jacket from a hook amongst several other jackets. Then he selected a pair of gloves from a nearby shelf and moved next to the garage door. After twisting the key in the lock and shoving the metal door open, he looked out into the street. A few passers-by looked his way, and he quickly entered their minds, made them ignore him, and they moved on. Dorian ran a hand through his blonde hair and then pulled on his gloves. He slipped into the leather jacket and moved back to the bike. The keys, of course, were in the ignition. He turned the bike on, twisted the throttle, and rode it slow and easy through the garage door and into the street. Once there, he pulled the bike up alongside the garage door, stood to his full height and pulled the door down with one hand. He re-locked it and pocketed the key. He had a plan. It was time to execute it. As the engine roared to life beneath him and he pulled away from the side street and into traffic, he wondered whether he was doing this for Julien…or for himself. - 65 -

Heather Killough-Walden **** “That was delicious. What now?” Emma turned to her companions. Sam pushed back the sleeve of his white linen shirt and glanced at his watch. “We should start setting up. I’m going to head back to the gallery. Patrick, why don’t you and Emma spend some family time together?” Patrick glanced at Emma and their eyes met. He smiled a wry smile, and Emma matched it. “Great,” said Emma. “Family time.” Finished Patrick. They each chewed on their cheeks. And then Emma said, “Actually, Sam, I’ve been wanting to case St. Louis Cathedral and Jackson Square for a while now. You don’t get photo ops like that in Lubbock. But it would bore the two of you, and besides, I’m able to think and move better on my own.” Patrick cut an apprehensive glance her way. “I don’t know. By yourself? In the French Quarter?” “Lots of girls do it, Patrick. You’re too over-protective.” “That’s redundant, sweetheart, and he has a point. You’re a delectable piece of little-red-riding hood, and there are lots of hungry wolves out there.” Sam’s tone was admonishing, but also teased. “It’s broad daylight, guys. I’ll stick to busy places. No dark alleyways and opium dens for me, I promise.” Patrick thought for a minute and then sighed. “Come back to the gallery and pick up the camera and you’re on your own for a while. Just keep the cell handy. And keep it turned on.” They made their way back to the art gallery and Patrick let them in. Emma raced up the stairs to the guest suite on the second level, grabbed her Canon, and placed the thick padded strap around her neck. - 66 -

The Third Kiss The showing would start at nine, late by Lubbock standards, but early evening, and well before things really started to get busy on Saturday night in the French Quarter. She would probably need to be back by eight to make sure everything was taken care of in time. On her way back down the stairs, she called over the railing. “I’ll be back by seven or eight, guys.” Patrick stood from where he had been kneeling behind the bar, re-stocking things. “Fine, but if you’re going to crawl around in filth to get your perfect shots, then give yourself enough time to come back and shower before changing for the show, okay?” Then, before she could answer, he added, “Do you have your phone?” Emma rolled her eyes and moved to the door. “Yes and yes.” She left the gallery and headed southeast. Jackson Square was four blocks away. She took her time along the store fronts, enjoying the diversity and wild, sometimes chaotic, assortment of items on display in the various windows. Were she wealthy, she could buy anything she wanted here. A platinum and diamond choker, a hot-pink vibrating dildo, a thong made of feathers and leather, a seventeen-thousand dollar painting of a blue dog, a chocolate lollipop shaped like female anatomy. And if you were new to the area and it showed, you were sure to be approached by someone who would “tell you where you got your shoes” for five dollars. You name it. It was here. As Emma moved through the streets at a snail’s pace, she found that she was smiling. She liked New Orleans, loved Louisiana, with its misty mornings and thunder storms and Spanish moss and Cajun-spiced rice and Attitude Adjustments. She thought of the house her grandparents had grown up in and, ultimately, left to her parents; the house she’d slept in last night, in her very own queen-sized bed, in the room she’d lived in for her entire childhood. She thought of the Mississippi river, with its vast depth and breadth. She thought of the Louisiana nights.

- 67 -

Heather Killough-Walden And then there was the pulse of the heart that beat beneath it all. Never ceasing, never slowing. Louisiana, the Port Orleans, and the Quarter, especially, were the life-blood of a nation, she realized. It was the most alive place she had ever been in. And she’d been all over the country. She wandered down the blocks, utterly absorbed in her thoughts, until she was yanked from them by the sound of something large and heavy crashing to the cement behind her. She spun to see a man bending over a forty-pound bag of kitty litter that was now burst open and spilling out onto the sidewalk at a quick pace. Still in his arms, barely balanced, were two feeding bowls, a bag filled with cat toys, a box of tuna-flavored cat treats, a fur scraper, a cat toothbrush and toothpaste, and a small black collar with the Harley Davidson logo on it. She stared at the man and blinked. He carried so much stuff that she couldn’t see his face. But the body was worth staring at, in and of itself. He was tall and powerfully built and the lean lines of his muscles were easy to make out against his jeans and beneath the short sleeves of his tight tshirt. She watched him precariously shuffle the boxes and bags in his arms a moment more and then they began to tumble and before she could rush forward to help him, they were joining the kitty litter. She jerked herself from her appreciative stupor and hurried to the mess at his feet. He was already bent over the pile of goods and appeared completely absorbed in the task of gathering everything back together. She knelt beside him and, without looking at him, began to help. “Wow,” she said as she assembled the vast assortment of cat treats and toys that had scattered across the sidewalk. “You must have a hundred cats.” The man chuckled softly, and the sound caused a shudder of pleasure to race through Emma. She looked up at him. She went utterly still. - 68 -

The Third Kiss “No,” he said, his voice low, his tone delicious and friendly. “Just one. Why, is this too much for one?” His ice blue eyes twinkled in his inhumanly beautiful face and his smile flashed perfect, straight, white teeth. Emma’s mouth opened, as if to answer, but then it closed again. She stared. And then she blinked, and then she blushed furiously. “Ah—I—uh…” He laughed again, and heat pooled in Emma’s belly. And she realized that she was being an unreserved idiot. She recognized him as the man on the bike from last night. But he obviously didn’t recognize her. And why would he? He probably had women looking at him all the time. She forced herself to blink one more time and then, with Herculean effort, she pulled her gaze away from his and pretended to concentrate on gathering up his purchases. “One cat?” she asked, proud of herself for managing to keep her tone rather neutral. “Yeah, just one.” “He must be positively ginormous,” she said. He had enough food here to feed an entire animal shelter. He laughed again, and Emma actually shivered. She was glad she was already on her knees, because she could feel them go a little weak. “No, he’s only a kitten. I just got him.” She turned to look at him again and realized that he hadn’t moved and hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since she’d knelt beside him. She bit her lip and told herself that she would not blush again. “You just got him?” she asked, looking away and placing the separate bags of treats in the box from which they’d spilled. “Just down the street. He was in a box in the window of a book store. They’d given the rest of the litter away for free. He was the only one left and I couldn’t leave him there.”

- 69 -

Heather Killough-Walden Emma’s head whipped around. She gaped at him. Could he possibly be speaking of the same cat she’d seen earlier that day? “Does he have a crooked tail?” He looked surprised for a moment and then his brows drew together. But before he could ask how she knew, she interrupted him. “I know that cat. I passed by him this morning. He’s very cute…” Her voice trailed off and she looked back down at the ground. Then she hurried to continue re-organizing the cat toys. This time, he helped her. “He is a cutie,” he said softly. His hand brushed against hers when they both went to put toys in the box at the same time, and she jerked her hand away. His touch had been electric, almost shocking. The warmth in her middle was spreading and she had a feeling she was going to need that shower back at the gallery after all. “Well,” she stammered as they finished putting the items in the box and bags and then both stood, “you definitely don’t need all of this stuff for one cat. Especially one as young as he is,” she added with a slightly nervous smile. “But you got it all from Elsie’s store, and she donates half of her profits to no-kill shelters in the area, so…” her voice trailed off for a moment as his blue eyes pinned her to the spot. She could get so positively lost in those eyes she would never find her way out again. “So…you may as well keep it,” she continued, her voice sounding distracted and far off, even to her own ears. “You’ll use it all eventually.” He held the box and bags evenly balanced now, and stared steadily down at her from between them. The sun made his blonde hair shimmer, and his eyes were nothing short of oceans. She was drowning. She needed to come up for air. She really needed to look away. - 70 -

The Third Kiss Look away, Emma. She felt as if she actually had to force her head to turn, but she somehow managed to look away and she re-focused, immediately, on a crack in the ground. She realized that she hadn’t been breathing. She took a slow, deep breath and noticed the sand spread across the sidewalk. They’d forgotten about the kitty litter. It was a lost cause, the bag irreparably torn. She bent and lifted the two ends of the hefty bag in both hands and began to make her way to the nearest trash can. Dorian watched her turn away from him. His blood rushed through his veins so fast that he could hear it in his eardrums. His heart was beating too hard. How had she managed to look away from him? He’d been holding her in thrall. He’d done it to thousands of humans, thousands of times. He’d been positive that he would have been able to suggest something—anything—to her, and she’d have had no choice but to agree to it. But then she’d pulled her gaze away. Impossibly. Amazingly. Her strength of will was positively daunting. And her physical strength wasn’t anything to sniff at either, he realized, as she lifted the forty-pound bag and hefted it over to the nearby trash receptacle. Think, Dorian. He forced himself to redouble his efforts. “Thank you for your help,” he told her. She threw the bag in the trash and turned to face him. He smiled at her and then made as if he were going to cross the street. It was a busy street, and the lights on both ends were green at the moment. Emma realized that he wouldn’t be able to see the cars over the bags and boxes piled high in his arms, and she came forward to stop him. “Wait! Where is the cat at? Did you drive here?”

- 71 -

Heather Killough-Walden He stopped and turned to face her again. “I drove, but Harley isn’t actually that far from here. I just didn’t feel like carrying everything I would need-” he paused, as if to re-assess what he was saying, and then he smiled and continued, “everything I thought I would need all the way back to the apartment.” Emma cocked her head to one side and gazed up at him. “Harley?” “The cat.” “You named him ‘Harley’?” His smile was brilliant. “Yeah. It fits him. He’s dark and a little twisted. And he purrs really loud.” Emma suppressed the sudden urge to laugh out loud and smiled brightly instead. She shook her head. He was right. The cat’s tail was all crooked. And he was the color of shadows. The name fit perfectly. “Listen, why don’t you at least let me help you carry this stuff back to your car.” She came forward, hands up and open. He shrugged, as if to say, “why not”, and held one well-muscled arm out to her. She took the bags that he had draped over himself and distributed them evenly between her two hands. “Which way?” “Just over there.” He turned and nodded across the street, and she followed his gaze. Her jaw dropped open again. But before she could say anything, he was taking advantage of a lull in the traffic and was crossing the street in long, graceful strides. “I don’t believe this,” she mumbled to herself and then hurried to catch up with him. They approached the motorcycle that was parked in the afternoon shade of the adjacent brick building, and Emma stared down at it. After a moment, she realized it wasn’t the same one she’d seen him on the night before. - 72 -

The Third Kiss “This isn’t—” She stopped just short of giving herself away. She didn’t want him to know that she remembered staring at him last night. The fact that he didn’t remember her as well was just a little too much of a blow to her self esteem. Why rub it in? He put his purchases down beside the bike and looked over at her. “It isn’t what?” he asked casually as he lifted the bags off of her arms. She chewed her lip and glanced up at him. He was watching her intently. “Um…It isn’t going to all fit on your bike. A Harley Night Rod just isn’t made for hauling pet supplies.” Dorian froze and peered down at her. She knew her bikes. Lord, but the woman was full of surprises. Something told him he should get used to it. “But, uh,” she continued, still rather nervously, “nice bike.” She finished with a smile. “Thanks,” he said, sincerely. It was truly one of his favorites as well. But at the moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Emma. The way her heart raced when she fibbed to him – and yes, he knew she was fibbing. The way the sun glinted off of the golden locks of hair framing her face. The way her lips were pink and flushed with the warmth of the New Orleans afternoon. Emma smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. What was it with his damned heart and its inability to function in any normal manner around this woman? She was going to kill him. She was currently waiting for him to say something. He realized he hadn’t commented on the pet supplies. “No, you’re right,” he laughed softly. Emma blushed again. His laugh was like chocolate. “You said your apartment was close by, right? I suppose I can help you carry it there, if it isn’t more than a few blocks.” That’s it, Emma. Bite the bait.

- 73 -

Heather Killough-Walden Dorian hid his smug smile behind a mask of surprised and apparently genuine appreciation. “Really? You wouldn’t mind that?” he asked. “No, not at all.” She bent to lift the bags once again, and he took the boxes. Victory coursed through his veins. “It’s on Conti Street. Can you make it that far?” he asked, knowing she would consider the question as both a show of consideration and a somewhat degrading challenge. She shot him a look that showed him he was right, and then she nodded. “Yeah, I can make it.” She started off ahead of him, and he was more than happy to follow behind. He watched her as she walked, finding that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her long wavy hair, that glimmered like spun gold, taunted and teased him, begging him to touch it. Her jeans were just the right amount of tight, her body just the right size and shape to fill them out. He smiled to himself as they made their way down Royal Street. She seemed to realize that she was going a little fast, and she hesitated, waiting for him to catch up and walk beside her. “I’m Dorian,” he said, and smiled down at her. She turned and regarded him with a wary but patently interested look. “I’m Emma. I would shake your hand, but as it is, you already have to buy another bag of kitty litter.” He chuckled softly and adjusted the boxes in his arms. “Do you live in New Orleans?” he asked casually. “No. I don’t even live in Louisiana. Though, I must admit I wouldn’t mind. You have a beautiful state.” She wouldn’t mind living here? He studied her profile. That was fortunate, he thought to himself. She wasn’t going to get a choice in the matter. “Are you visiting family? Here on business or pleasure?”

- 74 -

The Third Kiss She laughed and said, “Yes, and both.” She turned her smile on him and he felt his fangs lengthen in his mouth. He gave them a mental shove back in, and his gums began to ache furiously. “I do have family here, and I’m here on both business and pleasure. As I said, I love New Orleans, especially the Quarter. But I’m actually here to attend an art showing tonight. It’s my debut exhibit.” She sounded shy about that last bit, and he realized that he could watch the expressions cross her lovely face for days and not get bored. “You’re an artist?” “Sort of,” she admitted. “I’m a photographer. My brother owns an art studio a few blocks away. We’re opening it to the public tonight.” Her smile switched from one of outgoing friendliness to inward happiness, and she continued. “I can’t believe I already have a buyer—” She stopped mid-sentence and turned a suddenly embarrassed expression on him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to immediately start bragging about myself to a total stranger.” He touched her mind gently with his and found that she truly was a bit mortified. But she was also so thrilled and surprised to have had an offer on one of her photographs that the exclamation had simply slipped out of its own accord. He smiled to himself. On top of everything else, she was honest and modest. It was almost too much. He looked away from her and focused on the road ahead. “I don’t mind, I promise. I’m actually a bit of a photography fan, myself. What do you shoot?” And they talked. He pried gently, not wanting to push too hard, not wanting to appear at all over-eager. And she pushed gently back. He could sense her attraction to him as an honest, real magnetism. The

- 75 -

Heather Killough-Walden feeling was mutual, only he was more than positive that, for him, the appeal she held was stronger. It was nearly unbearable. And he was going to have to give her away. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. He walked her to the two-story building owned by Adalard Enterprises, but instead of leading her in through the garage, as he would normally do himself, he set down his boxes, took the keys from his front pocket, and used them to unlock a red wooden door in the side of the building, adjacent to the garage entrance. He noticed Emma searching for some sign on the building that would give her a hint of who owned it, or even whether it was safe to follow him inside. She wouldn’t find any signs. They’d made certain of that a long time ago. He could sense her nervousness now that she actually stood in the entryway with him. She was not a stupid woman. He was a stranger, after all. And her brother’s fears for her echoed in her head, along with a few feelings of guilt and self-deprecation. She was a little ashamed of herself for taking even this much of a chance with someone she really didn’t know. He gently brushed her mind once again and exerted a bit of force upon her will. He had to do it tenderly, just lightly enough that she would think the compulsion was her own, but just firmly enough that she couldn’t back down. It was more difficult than he thought it would have been. For some reason, she had erected a few mental barriers around herself that were tall and strong. It must have been the reason she’d been able to look away from him back there on the street corner. Barriers weren’t erected without reasons. At once, he wondered what had happened to her that had caused her to feel the need to reinforce her resolve, her spirit, her general force of will. He would have time to find out later. - 76 -

The Third Kiss Right now, he needed to get her inside. He pushed a little harder, and her brow furrowed. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. She put the bags down on the ground and put her hand to her forehead. “Yeah, I just suddenly have a bit of a headache.” He pushed harder still. She swayed on her feet. “Whoa. Steady.” He gently took hold of her upper arms and held her still. She closed her eyes momentarily and then opened them on him. The amber in their depths was on fire. She appeared confused, disoriented, and, he knew without a doubt, more than a little aroused. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were full and red. He had to work hard to hold her in his thrall, and as a vampire, the erotic intoxication he exuded was par for the course. “Come inside and sit down. I’ll get you something to drink.” He made the suggestion out loud, his voice calm and reassuring, but it was piggy backed by a mental evocation so strong she simply could not refuse. She nodded, numbly, and allowed him to guide her through the door and up a single flight of stairs. They came to a second door, which he also unlocked and opened, and entered the foyer of the double-suite on the second level. By this time, he had eased up a bit on the impulse, and she was rubbing her temples and looking around. “Wow. Pretty posh. Do you live here alone?” she asked, and then blushed, obviously embarrassed that she’d asked. He smiled. “Not any more. Harley’s in one of the bedrooms. Would you like to see him?”

- 77 -

Heather Killough-Walden That got her attention. He watched her closely as she struggled with the temptation. He knew she was allergic to cats, but he also knew she’d wanted to hold the kitten from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. And as he gazed at her, he could empathize with such a yearning. Finally, she bit her lip and smiled, her headache gone. “I’d love to.” “Have a seat. I’ll bring him out.” That managed to relax her further, since a part of her had also been uncomfortable at the thought of following Dorian into any kind of bedroom. It wasn't that she hadn’t wanted to, he noted. She’d simply been too modest, and too wise, to think it was appropriate at this juncture. She sat down on one end of an overstuffed couch and he disappeared down the hall. He opened the door slowly, so as not to catch the kitten with it, and found the room empty. Or, at least, it appeared empty until he heard the scratching under the bed. He knelt down and pulled the coverlet up. A pair of marble-gray eyes peered out at him from the darkness. And then leaped at him. Dorian reeled back just as the kitten galloped out from beneath the bed and enthusiastically attacked his leg, digging at least four tiny claws into the flesh of his knee. Dorian suppressed a yelp of surprise and pried the animal off of him. He brought the cat to eye-level and met his gaze. The kitten began to purr and then wriggle in his grasp and Dorian smiled, despite himself. He stood and carried the kitten down the hall. Emma looked up. “Oh! Hi, little guy!” She jumped up off of the couch; her face completely transformed into a mask of joy as she rushed forward and expertly took the kitten from Dorian’s grasp. “Oh my god, you are so precious!” She scratched the kitten behind the ears and his purr became a loud rumble.

- 78 -

The Third Kiss “You really do sound like a Harley. It suits you.” She smiled down at him and then curled his tiny, furry body against her chest, continuing to scratch him just where he liked it. Then she looked up at Dorian, and her expression turned self-conscious. “I’m sorry, Dorian, but do you have any Kleenex in this apartment?” Dorian blinked. Of course she would ask that. But he wasn’t supposed to know she was allergic. “Yeah, I’m sure I can find some. Why, did he let fly on you?” he asked casually. She laughed softly and shook her head. “No, but in about two minutes, I’m going to start sneezing and having to blow my nose profusely. I’m allergic to cats.” She finally admitted, looking down at the small creature in her arms as she did so. She gazed at the cat with nothing short of total adoration, and Dorian was suddenly jealous of him. “You’re allergic?” He managed a look of surprised concern and reached his arms out, as if to take the cat from her. She pulled away and held one hand out reassuringly. “Yes, but I don’t mind. Honestly, he’s just too sweet. I’ve been wanting to hold him all day.” I know. “Okay,” he stepped back, still appearing a little unsure about the situation. “I’ll go find the tissue, then.” He left her to play with the cat, and as he searched the storage cabinets for something he was certain the human maids would have thought to stock, he listened to her coo and fuss over the tiny animal. It was an altogether pleasant sound, and Dorian couldn’t help but wonder when the last time had been that he’d actually enjoyed a mortal’s company outside of having sex with one. It had been a while. Maybe never. He found the box of tissue, opened it, and took it back into the living room. Emma was laying on her side, on the carpet, using one gentle finger to tickle Harley’s stomach as the cat rolled around her hand, gripped it in his claws, bit it playfully, and then let it go and started over again. - 79 -

Heather Killough-Walden She was smiling from ear to ear. And Dorian smelled blood. He went still as every muscle in his tall body tensed and his face became a hard, impassive mask. His eyes dilated, his fangs began to lengthen behind his lips, and his fingernails ached where his claws began to extend. Emma looked up at him and her smile disappeared. “You okay?” she asked, suddenly a little unsure of the stranger she was alone with. He could read the wary thoughts she was clearly broadcasting, even at this distance. She thought he looked different. Angry, maybe. Gorgeous, but more than a little scary. He just bet he did. He swallowed, his eyes boring into hers, and forced himself to nod. Then, with tremendous effort, he once again shoved his fangs back in their places and curled his fingers into his palms, willing the nails to retreat to their normal length. He was having to reign in control over his body much too often around Emma Rose. It boded ill. “Yeah. Sorry. I just remembered that I left my jacket strapped to the back of my bike. I’ll bet it’s gone by now.” Emma’s eyes widened with empathetic worry. “Oh no! Was it expensive?” She rose on her arm and sat up. He noticed that she used the past-tense in reference to the jacket. She wasn’t stupid. This was the French Quarter. The jacket was well and gone, and they both knew it. Not that he couldn’t locate it again later that night, if he wanted to. He forced a smile. “Yeah, I guess it was.” She stood and approached him, but stopped in her tracks half-way there as her face contorted into the beginning of a sneeze. After a split second of building, she threw her head back and forward again in a violent sneeze the likes of which he’d never seen a woman produce before. - 80 -

The Third Kiss She moaned and covered her nose and mouth with one hand and held out the other to him, palm up. “Tiffue feesh.” He blinked. He looked down at her hand. It was scratched in several places, the wounds puckered and bleeding. His lungs constricted, his chest tightened, and his vision went dark. He licked his lips. As if on autopilot, he forced himself to pull several tissues from the box in his hand and hold them out to her. She nodded her thanks and pressed them to her nose. “Fankyou.” Then she turned her back on him and blew her nose with great aplomb. It was not at all what he would have considered a feminine act, and the sheer absurdity of such a sound coming from one so small and beautiful shoved the blood lust from his body and brain more effectively than anything else could have. He instinctively pulled a few more tissues from the box and held them out to her, over her shoulder. She took them without turning and thanked him again. After a few more noisy blows and some wiggling of her face and hands, she turned to face him again. Her nose was red, her eyes were watery, and there were red blotches across her neck and the skin of her chest that showed above her t-shirt. She looked ridiculous and adorable and extremely allergenic. “I should get you out of here,” he said, trying not to laugh at her discomfort. “Yeah,” she admitted, “I think so.” She turned to look at Harley, who had gotten over his initial disappointment that she’d stopped playing with him and was busying himself with the cotton strings on the edges of the bags of food they’d purchased and placed on the floor. “I’ll get Harley set up in the other room really quick, and meet you outside. Can I at least buy you a cup of coffee or a drink for your trouble?” he asked as he moved around her and bent, lifting the tiny furry creature in one large hand.

- 81 -

Heather Killough-Walden “That would be great,” she said, nasally, and offered up a wan smile. He shook his head, positively bowled-over by her stubborn love for something that could make her so miserable. It was endearing. Just like everything about her was. “I’ll see you out there.” She said and left the living room, lifting the box of tissues from his hand as she passed him, and taking it with her. He stared after her for a moment and then turned a narrowed gaze on the animal in his hand. “You made Emma sick,” he scolded softly. True to his name, Harley purred.

- 82 -

The Third Kiss

Chapter Five Dorian walked Emma to a nearby coffee shop and bought her an iced soy latte. As time progressed and they talked and she downed her drink, her eyes began to de-puff and she sneezed less. “Sorry about your jacket,” she offered at one point. He shrugged. “That’s what I get. And I’m sorry about your allergies.” She shrugged as well. “That’s what I get,” she countered, smiling up at him. She smiled easily, he noticed. Her face naturally wanted to slip into that state. What a lovely face… “So, you’ve asked tons of questions about me,” she said as she wiped her nose one last time with a tissue in her left hand, and then brought her coffee to her lips with the other. “Tell me about yourself now. How do you pass your days?” She asked as they sat on the edge of the fountain in front of St. Louis Cathedral and she gazed, admiringly, up at it. Dorian watched her, in profile, for a moment and then turned to regard the massive structure himself. His brother, Julien, could not come this close to the church. For some reason, that realization brought Dorian a vast amount of pleasure. He smiled to himself as he leaned back and crossed his legs and the ankles. “I work for Adalard Enterprises,” he said easily, making it sound as if it were simply another job. She turned to regard him, renewed interest on her face. “Really? What do you do for them?” He paused and pondered his answer. “PR stuff, mainly. Nothing to write home about.” He shrugged it off, hoping to give her the impression that it wasn’t anything interesting enough that he wished to discuss it further. She was very perceptive. She took the hint and let the subject drop.

- 83 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Do you mind if I get some pictures while I’m here?” she asked as she reached tentatively for the camera strap that had been around her neck the entire afternoon. He’d known she wanted to photograph the massive cathedral, and with the sun slowly lowering over the horizon to their left, the building had a softened, gothic, almost romantic appearance to it. “Not at all. Anything I can do to help?” She pulled the camera over her neck and stood. She smiled over at him. It was such a secretive, guilty smile that he could not help but touch her mind with his. She was thinking that the best thing he could do would be to pull off his t-shirt and pose for her in front of the building. And then she was chastising herself for thinking such thoughts. She finally shook her head. “No, but thanks. This won’t take too long.” He watched her as she worked. She moved from a standing position on one side of the square to a kneeling position just to the left and in front of the cathedral. Then she jogged past him, getting nice and far back for a full-view. Again, she stood, and then kneeled, always moving the lens at different angles. It was fascinating watching her all caught up in her vocation. It was obvious that she didn’t consider it work. When she was satisfied that she’d gotten the shots she wanted, she moved back to the fountain and sat back down beside him. They talked for a little while longer, and she even became comfortable enough to ask him about the scar on his neck. He told her it was the result of a fight with his brother. He knew she assumed it had been long ago, possibly when Dorian was a child. They continued to talk, and then she spotted a palm-reader set up to the right of the Jackson Square gates, beside the Jax Brewery shopping mall. Her eyes sparkled and she jumped up and began to make her way over, calling to him over her shoulder.

- 84 -

The Third Kiss “I’ve always wanted to do this,” she told him. He hurried to catch up and they reached the stand together. The very young woman behind the table-cloth-draped desk glanced up at them and stopped playing with the tarot deck she’d been shuffling and laying out. “Would you like your palm read?” she asked politely. She was no older than twenty, really still a child in Dorian’s eyes, and wore her make-up thick to affect a smoky-eye and mysterious aura. “Yes, please.” Emma answered. He grazed the girl’s mind with his and she looked over at him. He grew still. She studied him with a frank intensity that she should not have been able to affect in his presence. Their eyes met and he read her thoughts clearly. He is other. Without a word, or any kind of indication that she had feelings on the matter one way or another, she looked away from him back to Emma. “Give me your hand,” she told her, her voice soft and friendly. Emma held out her right palm, as she was right handed. Plus, it was the one without all of the scratches on it. The girl took Emma’s hand in hers and studied its palm closely. Her young brows drew together. She seemed confused. She ran a finger over the lines in Emma’s hand and turned it this way and that. Beside him, he could feel Emma begin to grow nervous. “You have the most unique life line,” the girl finally said, looking up to stare into Emma’s eyes. “It is deep and strong, but it stops here,” she gestured to a point in the flesh where the most visible line came to an abrupt stop, “and then begins again right here,” she continued, moving her finger to a place a few millimeters away, where the line seemed to have simply skipped, disappearing and reappearing again to continue all the way to the edge of Emma’s hand. - 85 -

Heather Killough-Walden “What does it mean?” Emma asked, a slight quaver of uncertainty in her tone. Dorian looked over at her. Was she afraid? Did she actually believe in this girl’s abilities? He glanced at the girl again. He thought of Julien and of Julien’s mother. He knew magic was real. He knew well that there were people, entities, rather, in this world who manipulated forces that were out of the general public’s control. Was this girl one of them? She’d sensed he wasn’t entirely normal. And she’d been right. “I’m not sure, to be honest with you,” the girl admitted, blushing slightly. “Oh,” Emma replied, not sure what else to say. He brushed the young girl’s mind again. He was able to catch her name, Rachele, though he had to dig through a few layers to get it. She was thinking now that she wasn’t going to charge Emma. She was thinking that she had a feeling she knew what the line meant, after all, but that there was no way in hell she was going to voice the idea out loud. She thought it meant that Emma would die. And then live again. His pulse sped up. She was probably right. “Actually, I get all kinds of strange readings from people,” Rachele continued, suddenly wanting to put her customer at ease. “I’m rather new at this and don’t have the experience yet to tell what they all mean. Yours is good and strong, though, if that makes you feel any better. It’s also oblong, which means you’re very creative. I figure that’s why you’ve got the camera strapped around your neck, not because you’re a tourist.” Wow. She was good. She was lying about the strange palms she “usually got”, but she was dead on about Emma’s creativity. Dorian was impressed. And, inexplicably, uneasy. Emma smiled a self-conscious smile then and gently pulled her hand away. “I’m a photographer,” she admitted.

- 86 -

The Third Kiss “Ah, that makes sense then. I bet you’re a perfectionist about the pictures, too, aren’t you?” Rachele asked. Emma blinked, and then nodded, emitting a soft laugh. “Yes. In fact, it drives my brother crazy. He went on a shoot with me chasing after this egret in Lubbock one time. I couldn’t stop until I had the right shot. We chased it across three parks.” She paused, her thoughts internal, her gaze momentarily distant. There was a slight flush to her cheeks. “It took seven hours.” Rachele laughed outright and nodded emphatically. “Yes, your long fingers are those of a detail person. You aren’t satisfied until you get it right.” Emma was smiling brightly now. “How much do I owe you?” Rachele shook her head and stood. “Nothing. You’re my last reading, actually. I was just about to close up shop.” She turned her attention to the cards on the table, along with several other items of mystical paraphernalia. “Don’t worry about it. Enjoy your stay in New Orleans,” she added as Dorian placed a hand at Emma’s back and gently moved her away from the booth. Enjoy your stay? She’d even known Emma wasn’t from here, despite the fact that Emma had admitted to not being a tourist. Dorian found that he was a bit daunted by the young girl. He glanced back at her over his shoulder to find that she was watching him intently. Their eyes met once more. Don’t hurt her, she thought at him. She’d flung the wordless command at him with such force that he was momentarily taken aback. But he recovered quickly and, in reply, he gave her a slight nod. She seemed content with that and returned her attention to packing up the booth. Dorian looked back down at Emma. Don’t hurt her…

- 87 -

Heather Killough-Walden As they moved South East through the square, the sun disappeared entirely behind the buildings and trees on the skyline, and dusk settled in. Dorian’s body hummed to life, the vampire and predator in him awakening. On impulse, he suggested they walk by the river. It was yet another thing that Julien would never do, and Dorian was just in the kind of mood to push the envelope of his half-vampire capabilities. She glanced down at the watch on her wrist and then nodded. “Sure, I’ve got a few minutes before I have to head back.” She smiled up at him. “I’d love to walk for a while.” They moved along the river bank, and he told her as much about himself as he could without giving too much away. She asked a question here and there, and when he joked, she laughed honestly and with enthusiasm. He found himself laughing from time to time as well, and anyone watching them would have taken them for lovers. **** “Has he had her?” the vampire watching the two on the riverbank asked. His skin was crawling with discomfort from the nearness of the running water of the Mississippi. He never came this close by choice. But his orders had been severe, and he knew that the punishment for disobedience would be more severe, still. “Of course not. Julien sent him to retrieve her, not bed her. But, looking at them, you would never guess otherwise.” “What is the plan?” “Divide and conquer. He is a formidable opponent. The two of us can not take him down. However, she will be easy to subdue, once he has left her side. We simply have to separate them somehow.” - 88 -

The Third Kiss “Have you got any ideas?” “Give me a minute. I’ll think of something.” **** Dorian’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the number. He suppressed a groan. He popped it open and placed it to his ear. “She has a brother in New Orleans who owns a gallery,” Julien said without pretense or even a greeting. “Oh?” Dorian replied, feigning ignorance. “There’s to be a showing tonight. I am assuming that, by now, you have realized she is not currently in her home town. Instead of waiting for her to return, I want you to travel to the Port Orleans and locate her brother’s gallery. You’ll find Miss Nekoda there.” Dorian glanced over at Emma, who had respectfully busied herself with walking to a nearby bench and sitting down in order to give him privacy with whoever it was he was talking to. He felt more than a little irritated that Julien had learned of Emma’s brother and the gallery. This would cut his time with her short. “Fine,” he replied with finality. Julien fell silent on the other end, and Dorian wondered what he was thinking. “Good,” came the simple reply, and the line went dead. Dorian pocketed the phone and moved to the bench to sit down beside Emma. He pushed thoughts of Julien to the back of his mind and the two continued to talk. **** Julien Adalard looked down at the sleek black iPhone in his hand. And then he looked up at Tristan, handed him the phone, and said, “Find out where that last call connected. I want to know immediately.” - 89 -

Heather Killough-Walden Tristan nodded, took the phone, and left the room. Julien turned his gaze to the two women who were seated on the settee on the other side of the large study. They sat in silence, unmoving, their gazes unfocused, their hands clasped easily in their laps. They were young and attractive and both wore cocktail dresses that flattered their shapely frames. They were gifts for the Voronoi delegates. Julien moved to his desk and lifted the single manila folder off of its surface, then opened it and began to review its contents. But he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the matters he would be discussing with Aleksei’s representatives. His mind was on a woman with golden hair, and a half-vampire who he had a very strong feeling was challenging him at this moment. Tristan knocked on the door, and Julien looked up. The vampire entered on silent feet and held the phone back out to his king. “It connected in New Orleans, your majesty. The closest estimate is the Metro area.” Julien’s gaze darkened and his gums began to ache. Fury flared to life within him. He took the phone from Tristan’s outstretched hand. Then he placed the folder back on the desk and turned to face the windows. At once, words of ancient magic began pouring forth from his lips. His fangs had fully extended, but he expertly spoke around them, softly chanting the incantation with proficient aptitude. He spoke melodiously and calmly, his tone utterly belying the rage roaring through him. Magic stirred the air, made it thicker, and Tristan stepped back out of the way. What he couldn’t see was that Julien had closed his eyes. When the vampire king finished chanting and magic was so heavy in the atmosphere that the women across the room fell into dead faints, he opened his eyes again. They burned a fiery, hellish red. Dorian… - 90 -

The Third Kiss **** Eighty miles away, on the bank of the Mississippi river, Dorian’s eyes widened. He took a quick step back from Emma and turned his back to her just as he felt Julien’s presence overtake his form. He could feel his brother’s consciousness behind his eyes. He shut them tight. No… You son of a bitchHis cell phone vibrated in his front pocket. He gritted his teeth. Julien had found him. He knew Dorian was with her. The vibrations of the phone continued and then died. And then began again. He cursed low under his breath. “Dorian, what’s wrong?” Emma had come up close and he tensed when her fingers curled around his forearm, her touch gentle, her tone concerned. He pulled away quickly and shook his head. “Nothing. Emma, get away from me. Now.” He wasn’t surprised when, just as the second set of cell phone vibrations died, he began to feel the acid-like heat of pain course through his veins. He bit back the growl that threatened to rise from deep within him. Julien was attacking him on all fronts. He had cast a spell to see through Dorian’s eyes, no doubt wanting visual verification that Dorian was with Emma, and he was also using the blood stone around his neck to send pain searing through Dorian and coerce his compliance. Emma did not move away. “Why?” she asked, her voice still soft, still very much concerned, and also confused. Her hand was back on his arm, her grip slightly tighter. She tried to turn him to face her, but he wouldn’t budge. “Dorian, are you okay? Do you need help? A doctor?” Her tone was becoming urgent. The pain in his body increased, and he felt his legs begin to tremble. - 91 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Emma, get the hell away!” he commanded. He heard her gasp at the obvious change in his voice. It had become deeper, more snarl than tenor, and his words were slightly distorted as they were formed around the fangs that had painfully erupted in his mouth. His phone began ringing again, and he knew he had to answer it this time. He couldn’t withstand the pain for much longer. He dug into his front pocket, one of his elongated fingernails catching on the material and ripping a small hole in the denim. He pulled the phone out, took a deep shaky breath, and with Emma still standing stubbornly, loyally, behind him, he flipped the cell open and placed it to his ear. “Let me see her, mon frere.” “No,” he hissed. “Non? Dorian, truly, how much longer do you think you can fight me? I can sense your weakness from here. Mon Dieu. And I imagine the pain is becoming quite intolerable.” Julien paused, no doubt for effect, as another wave of agony racked through Dorian’s system, this time bringing him to his knees. Emma was immediately at his side, and he had to forcefully turn his head away, shut his eyes tight, and place one hand over the lids as if to hold them down. “Your tenacity is impressive, Dorian. Am I to assume you have not had enough time in my dungeons? Honestly, mon frere, I am beginning to believe you’ve a bit of a masochist in you. Now, let me see her.” Dorian squeezed the cell phone in his hand until he felt the seams begin to separate. But he kept it as his ear. And then, hating himself with every ounce of will he possessed, he turned to face the woman beside him, removed his other hand, and opened his eyes.

- 92 -

The Third Kiss Emma gasped and backpedaled in the grass. Dorian’s eyes had gone from ice-blue to bloodred and were glowing like the fires of the abyss. His fangs were extended, white, sharp and threatening. He was growling, deep and low, and Emma at once feared for her life. “Ciel, c’est un belle femme. Her light does shine through, does it not? Dorian, you’re scaring her half to death. Quit snarling at her. She’ll run from you, and you’ll be forced to chase her down. Then what will she think of us?” Julien’s tone was low, calm, and deadly. He had developed considerable skill, over the years, at keeping his wrath from leaking into his speech. He was able to torture a man for information for hours, even days, without ever raising his voice. Dorian had seen it on too many occasions. Dorian stood slowly, the pain receding as he pinned Emma with a stare more ungodly than anything she’d ever seen before this day. He could feel his brother watching her through his eyes. He was well aware that Julien knew seduction and enticement were no longer options where Emma was concerned. The king had figured him out. He knew Dorian was attracted to Emma and that he wanted her for himself. He knew, and that knowledge was as good as a signature on Dorian’s death warrant. “Maybe I’ll show her exactly what she should think of us, Julien,” he hissed into the phone as he turned his body to fully face hers, and she took a wobbly step back. Emma shook her head, her almond eyes wide with terror. “Dorian, what the hell-” Her voice was so soft, it was barely audible. But he heard it loud and clear. Dorian smiled a grim, fang-filled smile at his little Emma Rose and took a threatening step forward, knowing he was a vision of monstrous evil and that she was very close to some kind of breaking point. “Run, Emma. Run fast and far. Don’t let me find you.”

- 93 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Non! Dorian, take her now!” Julien’s furious voice bellowed in his ear. A wave of heat and acid rushed through Dorian’s veins and this time he could not suppress a harsh cry of pain from escaping his lips. “If she escapes you, I will have her found anyway. And then I will track you down and kill you, and use your body to kill thousands, beginning with her brother. I will make her watch you kill him, Dorian. She will fear you and hate you.” She already does, Dorian thought hopelessly. “Stop her, Dorian!” The king’s tone was no longer calm. The sovereign vampire was positively livid. At that moment, Emma somehow managed to break free of the mesmerizing hold terror had exacted upon her small form. She spun on her heel and took off at a frantic clip across the river front, in the direction of Canal Street. The cell phone was eerily quiet as Dorian watched her go. There was no new pain in his veins, no weakness in his muscles. He drew in a slow breath, knowing he’d hit rock bottom. This was as bad as it was going to get. And then, very softly, his brother said, “Unless you have her, unharmed, at the mansion in twenty-four hours, Dorian, your life is forfeit. I will send the wraiths for you. And when they’ve finished turning you, I will send you for her loved ones.” The line went dead. And so did the last of Dorian’s hope. **** Julien lowered the hand holding his cell phone and turned away from the massive study windows. He looked distractedly from the phone in his hand to the nails on his fingertips that had lengthened into lethal claws. His tall form was shaking with the need to strike out and kill. He

- 94 -

The Third Kiss could not rid himself of the image of his beautiful future queen, terrified, running from his brother. Dorian had messed things up irreparably. Julian had wanted her willingly. He did not often bother with the ritual of seduction. What he needed, he took, and dealt with the consequences by ridding his victims of their memories. Those who would not forget were disposed of. However, with his queen, things should have been different. She would spend eternity by his side, bear his children, and therefore should have been dealt with more delicately. He hadn’t wanted her to enter into immortality in fear. Fear led to revolution. He had seen it before. He gently, deliberately, placed the phone atop a nearby table and moved to the doorway. The bastard had ruined all chance of winning Emma’s consent to marriage without force. Julien’s visage darkened into a nearly savage mask as he moved through the mansion’s many corridors. In silence so thick with hatred that it was palpable, he made his way down one staircase after another, until he stood before a lone thick, wooden, iron-reinforced door in an undecorated stone wall. The guards that stood on either side of the door watched him with increased trepidation as he approached. He could feel their apprehension coming off of them in waves. He could smell their fear. Without preamble, Julien took a key from the inside pocket of his jacket and placed the key in the lock on the door. He turned it and stepped back. One of the guards hesitated only a moment before grasping the iron ring on the door’s face, and pulling it slowly open. It creaked as it swung outward. Only Julien knew what lay in the darkness beyond that door. There were six cells in this oubliette. And each one was filled, but not with people he wanted to forget. Instead, they held - 95 -

Heather Killough-Walden within their stone-walled, un-lighted depths wraiths. The vampires that Julien had unlawfully drained to the point of a second death. And then locked away for safe keeping. Dorian had crossed the line one too many times. This task had been too important. It still was. If he did not bring Emma to him by the allotted time, Julien would kill him. And he would make it hurt in the worst possible manner. **** Dorian stood stock-still on the river bank, his eyes staring blankly at the place down the street where Emma had disappeared around the corner. A part of him wanted to let her go, if only so that he would never have to see that kind of terror in her eyes, directed at him, again. But the rest of him knew that if he didn’t go after her, Julien would find her anyway. The vampire king was adamant in this. He meant to have his queen and Dorian knew he would stop at nothing to retrieve her. If Dorian didn’t take her back to Baton Rouge, things would go from bad to worse. He put his hands on his face and felt the change in him recede. His fangs shrank back into his gums. His vision cooled. The blood slowed its frantic pace through his veins and his fingernails shortened. He took another long, shaky breath and put his hands down, glancing once again in the direction that Emma had run. And that was when he saw them. Two vampires, tall and dark, just rounding the same corner she had, moving so fast that their presence blurred to mortal eyes. But he could see them clear as day. And he knew, with absolute certainty and without the slightest hint of doubt, that they were after Emma. They were five blocks away and much closer to her, at the moment, than he was. - 96 -

The Third Kiss He swore loudly and blurred into motion. **** Emma ran as fast as her badly shaking legs would carry her. Her breaths came ragged and uneven, and stars swam in her vision. The people she passed as she sprinted down the sidewalk must have thought she was insane. And maybe she was. Because she could have sworn that the nice young hunk of a biker man she’d spent the afternoon with had just turned into a vampire before her eyes and told her to run away from him. She wished she could chalk it up to some kind of a mental breakdown, but the truth was she wasn’t really under all that much stress. Maybe it was some kind of delayed reaction to the smoke in the Hookah Café? Maybe, right now, Dorian was back by the river, wondering what the hell had just happened, shaking his blonde head at the crazy photographer girl who just suddenly flipped out and began to dash down the French Quarter at a mad tempo. Maybe. But something inside of her told her it wasn’t likely. She knew deep down that she wasn’t insane, and that this wasn’t a hallucination. Perhaps it was a dream. She slowed, trying to catch her breath, and looked behind her. No sign of Dorian. Why was she looking? Was she certain he would come after her? If it was a dream, she could wake up from it. She tried shaking her head quickly from side to side, the way she did in a nightmare she wanted to wake from. Nothing happened. “Whoooeee, girl, you need ta lay off dem stovepipes, cher!” A middle-aged black man in worn jeans, tennis shoes with holes in them, and a Borsalino cap, was shaking his head at her from across the street. She was amazed that she didn’t feel embarrassed. - 97 -

Heather Killough-Walden Instead, she felt frightened. Terrified, actually. She hadn’t woken up. This wasn’t a dream. And that persistent feeling of lurking danger was riding her again, growing stronger and stronger by the second. She looked up and down the street, but all she saw were drunken tourists, and shop keepers locking their doors and carrying out bags of trash. Her breathing wouldn’t slow and her body refused to ease out of fight or flight mode. She turned on her heel once again and continued, this time at a fast walk, down the street, toward the general direction of her brother’s gallery. And then she was being shoved, hard and fast, into an adjoining alleyway and plastered up against the wall. The back of her head hit the brick with a muted thunk, and the stars were back. Before her vision had a chance to clear, she felt a piercing sting on the inside of her arm and she cried out when a harsh burning sensation followed quickly after. A hand covered her mouth just as her sight cleared enough for her to make out two men with her. Both were men she would normally consider handsome – tall, dark-haired, trim, fit bodies in dark, expensive clothing. But that was all she had time to consider before a rush of heat spread through her body and the world turned on its side. She moaned softly and slumped forward. She could feel them catch her and could even tell, in the topsy-turvy jumble that had become her senses, that one of the men was lifting her easily into his arms. Her head fell back against his shoulder as every ounce of strength was suddenly drained from the muscles in her body. And then everything went black.

- 98 -

The Third Kiss

Chapter Six Dorian pushed the speed dial number on his phone and waited for the other end to pick up. After three rings it did. He didn’t wait for Julien to say anything before he immediately started in. “If Voronoi’s men are there now, detain them. Aleksei knows about Emma. He sent Mikhail and Viktor after her.” There was no reply from the other end, and Dorian realized that Julien may actually be in the presence of Voronoi’s delegates. “She’s safe with me, but she’s been drugged. Mikhail and Viktor are dead.” “Oui,” came the reply. Once again, the line went dead, and Dorian knew that Julien understood. He folded the phone and placed it back into his pocket, then turned to face Emma, who was laying unconscious on the couch in the large living room. He strode silently across the room and stood over her, peering down. Her long golden hair was fanned out over the arm rest of the sofa. She had one arm draped over her stomach and her t-shirt had come up to reveal a toned mid-riff above her low-cut jeans. She’d lost her shoes in the alleyway and Dorian couldn’t help but appreciate her perfect, narrow feet and the light pink-peach nail polish she’d applied to her dainty toes. He knelt and took her right arm in his hands. A small bruise was forming where Mikhail had shoved the needle into her vein. Without thinking, he brushed his lips against the wound, kissing it softly. Emma moaned and stirred. He released her arm and stood back up.

- 99 -

Heather Killough-Walden The fact that someone else had forced her into this deep of a submission ripped at his insides. She’d been helpless in their arms. He wanted to kill them all over again. He looked down at his hands, the hands that had torn Viktor’s head off of his body and ripped Mikhail’s beating heart from his chest. At least he’d washed all the blood off. After he’d brought Emma safely back to the apartment, he’d returned to deal with their remains. The sun would find their bodies in the morning, chained with iron to a storm pipe in the river bank, well out of the sight of any humans. Within minutes, their corpses would become so much ash. Emma’s mouth opened as she fought her way to the surface of the sleep she’d been forced into, and another soft moan escaped. Dorian’s fists clenched at his sides. He would need to take her to the mansion. Despite everything, the truth was, she was safer there. As long as Dorian didn’t count Julien’s teeth as posing any kind of threat to her. At first thought, it made no sense. Dorian’s mother had been human. If Julien turned Emma from human to vampire, would she still be capable of creating children like him? Logic dictated not. However, the gypsy woman had been clear on that point when she’d told her prophesy to the Romanian king all those years ago. These women – these queens – would bear Halflings always, no matter what changes befell their own bodies. Which was just so convenient, Dorian thought bitterly. Because Julien would waste no time bestowing those three kisses. Once the third was given and Emma was changed, she would not only be immortal, she would be his. A created vampire was tied to its master so tightly that said master could demand almost anything of the changeling, and it would most probably be done. - 100 -

The Third Kiss As he stared down at this woman that could smile so easily, with hair of spun gold, Dorian felt that giving her away to Julien was the very last thing in the world that he wanted to do. But, at least at the mansion, Dorian could watch her. He could see her every night. He would even serve her. After all, she would be his queen, just as Julien was his king. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. They would need to leave soon. He just needed to give Julien time to properly apprehend Voronoi’s men before they did. If Emma appeared at the mansion while any of the Russian King’s people were able to contact him in any way, then an all out war would ensue. Aleksei would send throngs of vampires after the woman, in the hopes of getting to her before Julien could fully turn her into his queen. At this very moment, Aleksei had no reason not to believe that Mikhail and Viktor had succeeded in capturing her and were on their way back to D.C. Dorian preferred to keep it that way and knew that Julien would make certain it did. Emma stirred again and her eyes fluttered open. But it was only a second before they were closed once more. The vampires had given her a hefty dose of thiopental sodium, combined with some kind of analgesic that was longer lasting. He could smell it, but he couldn’t identify it. Whatever it was, it held her fast in its grasp. He pulled the velvet throw off of the second of the two couches in the living room and draped it gently over her. He knew she would be cold when she awoke. Then he moved to the kitchen and began making coffee. As he worked, he thought of everything he would have to do. He would have to tell her about himself, and about his people. He would have to convince her to come with him. He also had to convince her to attend the show at the art gallery that was to start in – he glanced at his watch – twenty minutes. She would need to make excuses for her

- 101 -

Heather Killough-Walden tardiness. Then she would have to talk to her brother and tell him that she was going to Baton Rouge, so that her sudden disappearance did not cause a stir. As to that part, Dorian had a plan. He hoped Patrick Nekoda was not in the least bit perceptive, because if he was anything but an utter idiot, Emma’s strange behavior was sure to sound a warning bell in the man’s head. But Dorian could help with that part as well, as long as he could look into the man’s eyes. Then Dorian would take Emma to Julien. From the living room, he heard another soft moan and, finally, a mumbled word or two. Dorian flipped the switch on the coffee pot and rounded the corner. Emma was trying to sit up, but failed and ended up back on the couch. He was incredibly impressed with her tenacity. Most people couldn’t do so much as turn their heads from side to side after being doped up in such a manner. But her will power was tremendous. “What… Ungh,” she tried to sit up again, and again failed. He was instantly at her side. She blinked up at him, and her brow furrowed. Her eyes closed for a few seconds and reopened. Then she said, “Are you…” she paused, tried to swallow. “Vampire?” Dorian watched her in silence for a moment and then knelt beside her. With a tenderness he felt from deep inside, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Yes. We have a lot to talk about,” he told her honestly. She blinked at him again and said nothing. He tentatively touched her mind and found it floating, in a state of confused sedation, but he was surprised, and pleased, to find that any fear she was feeling at the moment was not necessarily directed at him. - 102 -

The Third Kiss She tried to lick her lips and her tongue stuck. “Mouth’s dry,” she said quietly. “I’ll get you some water.” He left the couch and returned a moment later with a bottle of water. He twisted the cap off and brought it to her lips. Again, she tried to sit up, in order to drink, and when she failed, he held his hand beneath her head and lifted her gently. She swallowed a few sips of water and closed her eyes. He laid her head back down. “Tell me,” she said, without opening her eyes. So, he did. **** “Mr. Yokov, if you’ll come with me, there is something I have wanted very much to show you for some time.” Julien re-entered the drawing room and addressed one of the three men who were seated in various over-stuffed chairs and love seats about the room. The king’s face was a polite but otherwise impassive mask. He gestured to the doorway, implying that the others should follow him out. The vampire he addressed looked from the sovereign to his two companions. They all glanced at one another uncertainly. Julien said, “Once you have been made aware of it, I would greatly appreciate it if you would share the information with your king upon returning to Washington. I believe he and I can come to a fair agreement.” The vampires in the room seemed to relax a little, now believing that whatever it was Julien wanted to show them must have something to do with trade agreements between the two vampire nations. The vampire that Julien had addressed as Mr. Yokov stood and straightened his jacket. He then glanced at his companions, gestured for them to follow, and strode across the room to join the French king.

- 103 -

Heather Killough-Walden Julien turned, without hesitation, and led the way from the room into a long hallway and, eventually, through the foyer, to another wing of the house. He had made certain that no guards would follow their progress through the mansion, so as not to alarm the delegates. They moved through another long hallway, down several flights of stairs, and through an arched doorway that led to a corridor carved directly from stone. Such an architectural feat was strange for Louisiana, as the water table was so high. “I am sure you are wondering about the stone in these corridors,” Julien said, conversationally, as he led the way down the torch-lit hall. “Many years ago, a very intricate peripheral subsurface drainage system was installed to direct moisture away from the walls.” The sound of their shoes on the stone echoed loudly off of the walls and gave their progress through the corridor a gothic, foreboding impression. “The stone, itself, was reinforced with non-woven geotextiles and covered with several layers of silicone sealant.” They at last came around a final bend and approached an iron-banded wooden door that looked at least half a foot thick. It bore a single key-hole and a door ring. “Here we are. Gentlemen, I am only going to show this to you once.” He turned an unemotional expression upon the three vampires, and continued. “Once you relay to him that I wish to bargain, Lord Voronoi will have twenty-four hours to respond with an offer.” Yokov nodded, forcing a business-like smile. “I am certain that whatever it is you wish to sell, Lord Adalard, my king will be interested in purchasing. Our nations have always come to satisfactory agreements in the past.” Julien nodded, saying nothing, and then turned and pulled a key from his pocket. He inserted the key into the door, twisted it, and felt the lock tumble. He waited just a moment before pulling the door open. - 104 -

The Third Kiss The four of them stared into the darkness beyond, and then Julien stepped back. At once, several hulking, blurred forms leapt out from the shadows, and were upon the delegates before they had time to react. Chaos ensued in the small hallway, as the three representatives struggled futilely in the wraith’s grasps. Jackets and shirts were shredded as the monstrous, twice-killed vampires quickly and efficiently rid their captives of every possible means of communication or escape. Cell phones went sailing across the hall to slam against opposite walls and skitter, broken, across the floor. A Blackberry clamored to the ground, rolled a few times, and stopped at Julien’s feet. He bent and picked it up, then slipped it into his pocket. After a few frenzied seconds, the scene in the hall calmed. “This is an act of war, Julien,” Yokov said, breathlessly. His fangs were extended, as were his claws, but they were useless. The creature holding him had skin like translucent tissue paper, eyes that were black from corner to corner, and claws that were more than three times as long as those of the vampires they now held. Yokov’s wraith had his arms painfully pinned up and at an angle behind his back. Yokov attempted to keep his face as neutral as possible, plainly not wanting to show the French king what kind of pain he must have been in. “This, Mr. Yokov,” Julien calmly corrected, “is an act of defense. Your king has already initiated a war by attempting to abduct someone very important to me.” He casually stepped over broken bits of electronic hardware and walked past them. “Bring them,” he commanded. Behind him, the three wraiths began to drag their prisoners after the king.

- 105 -

Heather Killough-Walden Julien silently led the way out of the dark, underground corridors and into yet another wing of the giant house. The dungeon furnished several very sturdy crucifixes that would hold the delegates until Julien was finished with them. He would add them to his collection of the twice-killed. And when Yokov was a wraith, he would send the vampire monstrosity back to his king. The message would be read loud and clear. In the very unlikely possibility that one or more of them should escape, they would have, at least, witnessed the existence of Julien’s stash of wraiths, and they would relay this information to Aleksei Voronoi. It might make the Russian king a little less eager to fight. **** Emma hugged her arms tightly around herself. It wasn’t a cold night. It was early September, and the late summer’s warmth was still draped over Louisiana like a blanket its people couldn’t wait to kick off. But she was cold, nonetheless. She walked, numbly, behind Dorian as he led the way down into the garage on the first level of the vast apartment owned by Adalard Enterprises. She’d refused any coffee, her stomach not quite up to the task of digesting anything but water, at the moment. Her Canon bounced nauseatingly against her solar plexus as she walked. She took a moment to adjust it, re-fitting the strap under one arm and letting the camera hang to her side like a purse. The Canon had taken some damage in the alleyway when Voronoi’s men attacked her. But Dorian had gone back for it, and he’d brought it to his apartment. It was scraped up, and the lens cap was missing, but it was still in working order. Dorian had told her everything. Or, at least, she had no choice but to believe that he had. He’d told her about how Julien Adalard, the billionaire businessman, was the French king of the vampires in the Southern United - 106 -

The Third Kiss States. He’d told her about the gypsy woman, all those hundreds of years ago, and her prophecy that had sent the various vampire kings and their subjects scrambling across the globe in the hopes of securing every bit of inhabitable land possible. And then he had told her about herself, about how Julien had dreamed of her, finally, and how she was to be his queen. Her. Emma Rose Nekoda. The French vampire queen. Because, apparently, she possessed the magical ovaries capable of furnishing a vampire king with a half-vampire army. Bile rose in her throat and she paused on the stairwell behind Dorian, one hand pressed to the cool wall, the other to her forehead, willing the nausea to go away. It’s the sedative, she thought morosely. Those bastards knocked me out and made me nauseous. She hated being nauseated. To her, it was pretty much the worst. If Dorian hadn’t informed her that the men were already dead, she would want to kill them herself. At that moment, Dorian paused on the staircase and turned to regard her. “Are you going to make it?” “Yes. I’m just woozy, that’s all.” Dorian took a slow, deep breath. “As I said before, if you would accept the blood I offered you, the feeling would go away.” Emma glared at him then. He had told her, earlier, that he could give her a touch of his blood and that it would cure whatever negative effects the tranquilizers were having on her body. She’d been both intrigued and repulsed, but mostly just repulsed. And she was terrified that it would turn her into a vampire or something.

- 107 -

Heather Killough-Walden He’d quickly gone on to explain that drinking a vampire’s blood did nothing of the sort. It simply cured ailments and made the drinker a little wired. Still, the thought of drinking blood when she was already queasy just made her more so. There was no way she was going to swallow something warm, salty, rusty and sticky when everything she’d had to eat all day threatened to come up on her at any moment. He’d seemed more than a little disappointed, perhaps a touch frustrated, but he’d nodded and accepted her refusal. Now a muscle in his jaw ticked to life. He was tense, angry. “If, in your current state, you can’t handle the things you’ll have to do tonight, you should let me help you, Emma,” he told her, his tone a low, forced calm. “I can handle them. And keep your freaking blood the hell away from me, Dorian. Don’t push me, okay? I’m already on the edge here,” she told him, swallowing hard when her outburst increased her queasiness. He gazed up at her for a moment more and then turned away to continue down the staircase. She chewed on the inside of her lip and followed him. Dorian, he had explained to her, was a half-vampire, and the only one of his kind. He possessed all of a vampire’s strengths, and none of its weaknesses. He’d told her this just exactly when she had been thinking that he couldn’t be a vampire, that it didn’t make sense, because he was with her, out in the sunlight, all day long. His answer had come so perfectly piggy-backed on her mental thoughts that she had to ask him if he was reading her mind. His face had become a stony mask and his lips had thinned. Then, as if wanting to admit it as much as he would want to cut off his own arm, he’d said, “Yes.”

- 108 -

The Third Kiss To which she had promptly told him to stay the hell out of her mind or she would hurt him bad. Dorian reached the bottom of the flight of stairs, opened a metal door, and moved ahead into the darkness beyond. Emma paused where she was and waited. A light switched on and Dorian returned, opening the door fully and gesturing for her to follow him inside. She did so. Then she paused in the entryway, her mouth hanging open, her eyes just about popping out of her head. “Okay… Wow. I mean… Wow.” Her gaze glossed over a bit as it slid across the motorcycles and luxury cars parked throughout the vast garage. Dorian was fairly certain it was safe to assume she was impressed. “Wow,” she repeated. Dorian smiled. “Adalard Enterprises makes a lot of money.” He told her as he gestured for her to follow him to a shelf against one wall. And it will all be yours, he thought. “What do you use all of these for?” she asked, after he had finally had to take her hand and pull her gently to the shelf. She couldn’t tear her eyes off of the bikes, and he noticed that she was staring at one in particular. “Business,” he answered. “Pleasure.” “Let me guess,” she said softly. “The cars are for business. The Harleys are for pleasure.” He smiled. “But, of course.” “I recognize the Night Train,” she said then, and he followed her gaze to the bike that was parked next to the Night Rod, closest to the garage door. “Actually, that’s one of two. The one you remember is in Baton Rouge, at the mansion.” He said it without thinking, and once the words were out, he regretted them instantly. She turned to face him, her expression one of incensed revelation. - 109 -

Heather Killough-Walden “You do remember me from that first night!” she accused, her mouth falling open once again. He didn’t say anything, and she continued. “Well, of course you do! You probably had this whole thing planned from the very beginning, didn’t you?” Her voice was growing louder, and her hands were now on her hips. “And what about Harley? Was he part of your insidious plan?” The look in her eyes was scorching. He didn’t know what to say. This was all falling apart. He didn’t want her to see him like this, not in this way. But she was a smart girl. And she was right. She closed her mouth, took a deep breath, in through her nose, and chewed on the insides of her cheeks. He could tell she desperately wanted to call him all sorts of horrible things, but that she just wasn’t that sort of person. Yet. He was pushing the envelope with her. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me, Dorian? Or are the life-altering revelations you’ve dumped on me thus far pretty much the whole enchilada?” Her voice was ice-cold, and the amber in her eyes looked like building flames in her pale face. He thought long and hard before he spoke. She had no idea how much there was that he wasn’t telling her. But she could only handle so much at once, and she would learn everything, eventually, anyhow. The important thing now was to get her to relative safety and to avoid any search parties, vampire or otherwise, on the way. “Emma,” he said softly, “You honestly don’t know how sorry I am about all of this. I’ve told you everything you need to know, and that’s the truth. We’re running out of time. We need to get you to the gallery and you need to talk to your brother.” He turned away from her, pulling a leather jacket, a pair of women’s biker boots, some socks, and a small helmet from the shelf. “I

- 110 -

The Third Kiss wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t contacted the police already. You were supposed to be there two hours ago.” He turned back to her, and before she could say or ask anything further, he held the various articles of clothing out to her. “Put these on.” She looked down at the items he was holding and stared. Then, as if suddenly realizing something, she took a step away from him and shook her head resolutely. “Oh, no. Huh-uh.” His gaze narrowed. “Emma, don’t play dumb with me. I know you know bikes. It’s faster than walking – and you’re barefoot, by the way – and a hell of a lot easier to park than a Bentley. We don’t have time to waste. Now, put these on.” She continued to shake her head. “You don’t understand, Dorian. Yes, I know bikes, but from a distance. I don’t ride.” She paused, her gaze narrowing on the jacket. “And I don’t wear dead animal.” He held stock still for a moment and then blinked. Of all the things he’d told her and caused to happen to her, she was going to give him grief over this? “You’re shitting me, right?” Her eyes widened and she looked up at him. “No, I’m not. I don’t ride motorcycles. And don’t swear at me.” His gaze turned icy. “You do today.” He transferred the helmet and jacket to the hand that held the shoes, and then reached out lightning-quick, and grabbed her by the wrist. She jerked at the unexpected movement, shocked by the sudden contact and the reminder that he wasn’t human. He pulled her to him and lowered his face to within an inch of hers. “Put. These. On.” She stared up at him, at first in surprise, and then with willful perseverance. “I told you,” she hissed softly, “I don’t wear leather. And I’m not getting on your goddamned bike.” - 111 -

Heather Killough-Walden He took a slow deep breath and exhaled through his nose. What were his options? He couldn’t fly her to the gallery, or to Baton Rouge, for that matter, because there was no cloud cover this night and they couldn’t risk being seen. Taking one of the cars would mean that he would be easily spotted and instantly recognized by any of the other vampire king’s subjects, and it would mean having to find a parking space outside of the gallery where the car wouldn’t be vandalized. Impossible. Plus, the plain fact of the matter was, he could do things on a hog that he couldn’t do in a car, and he wanted to feel that he had the control and speed available to him, should the need arise. He didn’t release her wrist, and she gazed stubbornly up at him. He tried to keep his voice calm as he said, “On a bike, you have two choices. You wear skin, or you run the risk of losing your own. You aren’t getting on the bike without the jacket, and especially the shoes,” he held up a warning finger as she attempted to butt-in. “And you’re definitely getting on the bike.” With that, he released her wrist and moved around to stand behind her. He could feel the anger and frustration coming off of her in waves, but she didn’t move. “Hold out your arms,” he commanded. She hesitated a moment and then did as he said. As much as he hated giving her more cause to despise him, he was pleased that she was finally realizing it did no good to argue with him. He slipped the jacket on her and she cooperated, allowing him to pull it up over her shoulders. It fit her perfectly, though he wasn’t surprised. He had jackets and riding boots of all sizes stocked on the shelves against the wall, and even had gloves to match. But he wouldn’t attempt to get a pair of those on her.

- 112 -

The Third Kiss He then moved to stand beside the Night Train and waited for her to follow. What choice did she have? Eventually, she sighed and walked toward him. He laid the helmet on the back of the bike and held the socks and boots out to her. He didn’t tell her anything, just waited. She sighed again and took them from his hand. Then she walked to a nearby stool and sat down. Emma was seething with anger on the inside, but she realized that she was also in a state of mild shock, and simply lacked the strength to fight about this any longer. The socks were brand new and fit her as perfectly as the jacket did, and she began to wonder how many women he outfitted for joy rides. A stab of jealousy lanced through her at the thought. Her brow furrowed. Why the hell do I care? She shook her head at her befuddled, confused thoughts, and pulled on the boots. They fit, as well. It took her a minute or two to lace them up correctly, but when she was finished, she had to admit she looked good in them. The Harley Davidson Logo on their sides gleamed brand new in the overhead fluorescent lights and she couldn’t help but admire them. “Now come here,” Dorian commanded. She glanced up at him. He was waiting for her by the Softail, having already donned a jacket and a pair of black riding gloves of his own. His iceblue eyes were piercing in their intensity. His gaze pulled at her as steadily as if he’d thrown a rope around her and was reeling her in. She really hated this new order-giving attitude of his, but she supposed she should learn to pick her battles at this point. She walked across the garage to join him at the bike, but she made certain he caught the glare of defiance she shot his way. He looked down at her as she approached him and she would

- 113 -

Heather Killough-Walden have given fifty bucks at that point to be able to read whatever thoughts were going on behind those eyes. Then he lifted the small black helmet from the bike. “Pull your hair back,” he told her. “You could say ‘please’,” she replied grumpily, crossing her arms over her chest. He cocked his head to one side and blinked, then appeared as if he were trying not to laugh. “Please pull your hair back, Emma.” He told her. She let out a breath and dug her hand into the front pocket of her jeans. She always carried a small hair band with her in case the wind started to blow her long locks in front of the lens of her camera during a shoot. She used it to pull her hair to the back of her head and then secure it in a low ponytail. He took the helmet and slowly, gingerly, fit it onto her head. As he did so, and once she could see through the visor, she stared fixedly at his chest, chewing on her lip as the physical part of her couldn’t help but notice the muscles rippling beneath his tight black t-shirt, while the mental part of her skipped about on the balls of its feet, emitting a high-pitched keening sound that only she could hear. She really didn’t want to get on that bike. Something in her stature must have finally given away her incredible apprehension, because before he got on the bike to start it, he placed a curled index finger beneath her chin and tilted her head so that he could look into her eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, the commanding tone he’d used moments before replaced with one of concern. “Are you okay?” She didn’t answer. She just chewed her lip and concentrated on not flipping out. He studied her intently for a good long moment and then comprehension dawned on him. “There’s a reason you don’t ride, isn’t there?” - 114 -

The Third Kiss She hesitated a second, then nodded, pulling her gaze away from his to stare at his chest once again. The helmet was heavy on her head and uncomfortably warm. She concentrated on the physical sensation, using it to pull her mind away from the past, away from the fact that she was about to get back on a motorcycle after sixteen years of swearing she never would. “It’s your parents, isn’t it?” His tone was so gentle now, his voice so quiet, that it actually soothed her, wrapped around her like black silk, cooling her feverish skin. “Yes,” she said, keeping her tone level, as she’d practiced doing for years. Dorian should have known. Julien had mentioned that her parents were dead. She knew her way around a motorcycle but didn’t want to ride. It made so much more sense now. He was an ass. “God, I’m so sorry Emma,” he said as he ran a hand through his hair. He knew “sorry” wasn’t going to cut it. “We’ll take the Bentley.” He reached up to take the helmet from her head, but she suddenly pulled back from him. “Wait.” He hesitated, looking down at her. She chewed her lip furiously. He was afraid she was going to draw blood. And then he would have to kiss her. There would be no way around it. And then he would be tasting her. And then“I’ll get on the bike.” He blinked. Had he heard her right? “What?” She looked up at him then and the sheer determination on her lovely face made him feel as if his heart were actually melting.

- 115 -

Heather Killough-Walden “I was just thinking,” she said, hesitantly, “I’m about to get turned into a vampire and made to give birth to a hundred babies.” She smiled and it was a sardonic, yet slightly nervous and still altogether beautiful smile. “Suddenly, the whole motorcycle deal doesn’t seem as bad as it did yesterday.” He slowly lowered his hands away from her helmet and stared deep into her eyes. Without thinking, without considering the consequences, he then lowered his lips to hers. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she closed her eyes. His lips were soft and dry, his kiss slow and tender. But despite the tenderness, Emma’s nerve endings hummed to life. Warmth pooled in her midsection and began to spread. Thoughts flew from her mind as if a window had been opened on an airplane. She moaned softly and felt Dorian’s gloved hands grip her upper arms tightly, pulling her roughly against him. He pushed a little harder and the kiss deepened. She opened to him, allowing him to taste of her, to drink deeply. A harsh sound somewhat like a growl escaped his throat and hearing it did strange, erotic things to Emma’s body. Just as she was beginning to feel utterly and completely lost in the depth of his kiss, something sharp pricked her lip and her eyes flew open. He pulled away from her, suddenly, and she stared up at him. His blue eyes seemed almost to glow, and his incisors had once again extended into sharp-tipped fangs. She gazed, numbly, at the teeth. Then she raised her fingers to her lip and they came away with blood. He’d bitten her. She understood, somehow, that he hadn’t meant to. And she understood something else. It was something which made her more frightened than anything else that had happened so far. She realized that she’d liked it.

- 116 -

The Third Kiss “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice harsh with lust. He was watching her so carefully, the look on his face a mixture of raw hunger and pure self-loathing. “Oh, Dorian,” she said, real fear beginning to surface in her own eyes. “We’re in trouble.” Knowing that she would regret it, and yet, for some reason, not caring a whit, she raised her fingers to his lips. His eyes closed immediately, and he wrapped his gloved hand around her wrist, holding her in place. Then he licked the blood from her fingers, slowly and thoroughly. He was tender and gentle, and Emma could see that every muscle in his body had gone rigid with the need to do so much more. It was a need he was fighting valiantly. A very tense minute later, he opened his eyes again. Her breathing had gone ragged and as he settled his glacial gaze upon her once more, her belly did a flip-flop. Oh yeah, they were in trouble. “We had better get going,” she managed to say, though her voice shook. He did nothing but watch her for several long moments, his eyes stripping her down to her core, branding her with a heat that stole to forbidden places within her and claimed her as his own. Then, very slowly, he released her wrist, and, just as slowly, she pulled it away from him. She watched, then, as his fangs receded back into his gums and the unnatural glow to his blue eyes began to die down. In silence, he pulled his gaze from hers. He walked to the garage door, turned a key in the lock, and shoved the door completely open. The night yawned empty and dark beyond. Dorian stared at her from that distance and then approached the bike. With practiced grace, he mounted the vehicle and started the engine. Then he looked at her over his shoulder. “Get on and hold on to me. Tight.” - 117 -

Heather Killough-Walden In a daze, she threw her right leg over the back of the bike and settled herself in behind him. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist. She felt his gloved hand touch upon hers, pressing her palms into his abdomen, before he returned his hand to the handle bars and twisted the throttle. The bike roared to life. She gasped and squeezed his middle as hard as she could. He was all hard muscle beneath her touch, unyielding and safe. Dorian drove them carefully out of the garage. Once they were in the alleyway, he pulled up alongside the door. He reached up and pulled the door back down until it latched into place. “Don’t lean to either side and don’t let go, okay?” he spoke to her over his shoulder. She was pulled so tight against him that her cheek brushed the black leather over his back when she nodded in reply, instead of answering out loud. He revved the engine once again and they took off down the alley.

- 118 -

The Third Kiss

Chapter Seven It was 8:45 when they finally reached the art gallery, and on top of everything else, Emma had to worry about how her brother was going to react when she raced in, dressed in leather, which he knew she never wore, with her hair a disheveled mess. She knew exactly what he would do, actually. He would look at her in that way that said they would have words later, and point, silently, to the upstairs suite, indicating that she should change, brush her hair, and come down STAT, to deal with the customers who were now pouring in through the front doors. Dorian illegally pulled the bike up onto the sidewalk and helped Emma off with one arm. When she was standing beside him and the bike, he held her wrist gently, and turned her to face him. “Was that so bad?” he asked softly, a smile on his sensuous lips. She thought about it. Actually, it had been nothing but pleasant. The feel of his waist as she’d held him tight, the blurring of the street lights and the buzz of city bustle as they’d sped past, and, perhaps especially, the strong vibrations between her legs, had all sent Emma into some kind of pleasure state. But there was no sense in letting him know quite all of that. “It wasn’t so bad,” she said, mirroring his smile. He chuckled softly and released her. “You’d better run in and deal with your brother. I’ll park the bike and be back to help as soon as I can.” Emma nodded and walked, briskly, to the front doors. Patrick was moving from guest to guest, answering questions and taking drink orders as customers came in. Emma passed a couple who were just picking up a brochure from a table near the front doors, and Patrick spun around, as if he could sense her presence, and pinned her with a incensed glare. “Patrick, I -”

- 119 -

Heather Killough-Walden He held up a hand, palm-out, and she closed her mouth with an audible snap. Then he used his other hand to point toward the stairs. Just like she knew he would. She took a slow, deep breath, gritted her teeth, and raced up the stairs. He was right anyway. They really didn’t have the leisure to argue about anything at the moment, and once Patrick had seen she was all right, he hadn’t wanted to waste any further time. Once she was alone in the guest suite, with all of the doors closed, she stripped down, pulled her hair into a tight bun at the top of her head, and jumped into a shower that hadn’t had ample time to warm up. It took her about two minutes to hurriedly soap up, rinse off, and jump back out again. She used the plush towel hanging on the rack to dry off, wrapped it around herself, and went in search of her dress. It was then that she realized she’d forgotten to bring a fresh pair of panties. “Oh, fucking hell,” she muttered. She rarely swore. It was a bi-product of living in SaintsVille, Texas. But she did so now, and with vigor. “Shit, shit, shit-” “Just wear it without any,” came the deep sultry voice from across the room. Emma shrieked in surprise and spun around, holding tight to the towel, defensively. Dorian stepped out of the shadows beside the closet across the guest room and smiled a wicked, hungry smile. He was dressed in an Armani suit that had obviously been tailored to his fit. His glossy, shoulder-length blonde hair appeared both carefree and painstakingly styled at the same time. His blue eyes were severe and penetrating. He looked like a playboy. He looked like a million bucks. “How the hell-”

- 120 -

The Third Kiss “It’s a vampire thing,” he answered with a shrug. “I can move very, very fast.” After looking her up and down with nothing short of a leer on his handsome face, he turned his attention to the plastic bag draped over the bed, in which, still on its hanger, hung the gray dress she’d gotten for the night. He lifted it up, and pulled off the plastic. She just watched him, mutely. He pulled the dress off of the hanger, and tossed the hanger back onto the bed. Then he moved around the bed and came to stand before her. She had to fight very hard not to take a step back. There was nothing between him and her naked body but a damp towel. But for what it was worth, she had a death grip on that towel. “Need help getting into it?” he asked, the evil, beautiful smile still gracing his cruel lips. He held the dress up by its straps and dangled it in front of her. Her gaze narrowed into slits. “No, thank you,” she said as she took the dress from him. She would have yanked it out of his grasp in a show of anger, but the dress just cost too damned much. “I can manage it myself. Now, please turn around.” Dorian stared down at her for a long moment, his eyes once again taking on that strange glow they’d had in the garage. And then his smile broadened and he turned around, crossing his large arms over his chest as he did so. Emma gazed up at his strong back, clad in that expensive jacket, his blonde locks of wavy hair falling just past his shoulders. He was beautiful. He was a vampire. And she was standing behind him in a towel. She closed her eyes and blew out a breath of frustration. Then she turned around, stomped back into the bathroom, and shut the door. Then locked it.

- 121 -

Heather Killough-Walden That was better. She dropped the towel and lifted the dress above her head, letting it float down her body like a silky parachute. It slid perfectly into place, and she had to admit, the absence of panty lines only made it look that much better. Then she took her hair down from the bun she’d placed it in on top of her head, and ran her hands through it. The twisted knot had given it thick, curling waves. She bent over and brushed her fingers through them, separating them just enough to give it a lot of body, and then she stood again, whipping her hair back over her shoulders as she did so. When she came out of the bathroom, Dorian was reclined on the bed, the strappy silver heels dangling from his fingers. His smile froze on his face when he saw her and his blue eyes began to glow. At once, his expression was just a touch too hungry for her liking. He took a deep breath, calming himself. And then his smile curved naturally once more. “You’re going to want me to help you with these, Cher,” he said, in an exaggerated Cajun drawl. “’Cuz if you bend over to put them on, I’ll get a snapshot of all the goods.” Emma blinked, once, and blushed horribly. She thought of all kinds of names to call him, but didn’t know which to use first, and besides, he was probably right. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath the dress, and it came to mid-thigh and slid easily over her body as she moved. There was a good chance that if she bent completely over, the dress would ride high enough to –” “Come here,” he said, his voice soft, his tone seductive. He crooked a finger at her. “We don’t have time for this, Dorian. And how did you get past my brother, anyway?” “I told you, I move quickly. And you’re right,” he said as he sat up and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, silver sandals dangling between his legs. He pinned her with a heated gaze. “We don’t have time for you to resist me. So, why don’t you just come here?” There was a knock on the door. - 122 -

The Third Kiss “Emma? You okay in there?” Emma’s eyes widened and Dorian’s smile turned positively nasty. She rushed forward and jerked the sandals out of his hands. She leaned in, her face a whisper away from his. “See what you’ve done? You’ve gotten me into even more trouble,” she hissed, but her tone lacked real vehemence. Without missing a beat, he reached up and grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss. Heat immediately flooded her body and she moaned against his lips. He growled in response, pulled her entire body on top of his, and then turned them around so that he was pinning her to the bed beneath him. “Emma?” The door handle rattled. Dorian had locked it behind him. Emma could barely form a coherent thought, but she somehow managed to get one hand up against Dorian’s chest to push against him. He wouldn’t budge. He simply kissed her harder, deeper, and pressed his body further into hers. Her world spun around her when she felt his fangs once again lengthening as his left hand slowly slid up her exposed thigh and his right hand moved around her neck to span the length of her throat and squeeze gently. Sensation was spinning out of control. She was getting lost in heat, in need, in the wetness she suddenly realized was forming between her legs. She opened her eyes and shoved away from him, gasping for air. The sound of protest he made was guttural, nearly a snarl. The fingers around her throat tightened just a little, as if in warning. She stared, wide-eyed, up at him, taking in the white, shiny, extended fangs and the eerie glow to his piercing blue eyes. - 123 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Answer him,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper, his tone a clear command. Emma tried to catch her breath, to keep from falling into the dizzying pool of blue that had become Dorian’s gaze. With tremendous will, she closed her eyes and turned her head away. “I’m fine, Patrick. I’m just getting dressed. I’ll be down in five minutes.” Patrick was quiet on the other side of the door. Dorian tore his gaze from the woman beneath him and concentrated on the figure outside. He sent out his mental feelers and brushed Patrick’s mind. The man was thinking that Emma sounded strange, maybe out of breath. He was wondering if she’d been crying or if she was sick. He looked back at Emma. She still hadn’t opened her eyes. He lowered his lips to her ear. “Tell him you’re putting on your shoes.” “I’m just putting on my shoes, Patrick. Almost done,” she lied. He could tell she hated to lie to her brother. Her jaw was clenched, and her teeth were bared. He listened to Patrick’s mind. Her brother was figuring that she was having trouble with all of the straps, and that she probably wasn’t used to the height of the heels. He was turning to leave. “Hurry, Emm. Some people have been waiting for you for nearly an hour.” “Okay!” she answered, even managing to sound a bit exasperated. He was impressed with her acting ability. He wasn’t exactly giving her an easy time of it. In fact, he was pretty much torturing her, and a very big part of him was loving it. He hadn’t moved his left hand from where it rested on the inside of her thigh. He slid it up a little further and felt her squirm in response. They heard Patrick walk away, down the hall, and then down the stairs to the gallery on the first floor. Emma opened her eyes and turned her head to look up at Dorian. “Get off of me,” she told him, her tone now very serious. - 124 -

The Third Kiss Dorian hesitated. She felt good beneath him. He could smell her blood, the soap on her skin, even her arousal. He knew the effect he was having on her, and it was an aphrodisiac to him. He hadn’t fed yet that night and he was hungry. His gaze slid down her face to the pulse in her throat. It was racing, excited, scared. He grazed it with his thumb and she shivered. He looked back up at her. She was staring, transfixed, at his fangs. He knew he frightened her. But he also knew he thrilled her in a way she never would have thought possible. He really didn’t want to let her go. She gave his chest another shove, and he looked down at her hand. Did she really think she could stop him if he decided to have her here and now? No. She didn’t. She was simply hoping he was a man who possessed a shred of decency. And he was, though that shred was threatening to get blown away in the hurricane of lust that was building within him right now. He took a deep, calming breath and moved away from her, releasing her neck, and removing his hand from her thigh. She swallowed and watched him warily as he then rose from the bed and paced to the wall on the far side of the room. There, he turned, and, bracing his hands against the wall, he leaned, head down, breathing ragged. She could hear it from here. Did she really have that much of an effect on him? Her own pulse was racing, her own breath coming unevenly. She was aroused and frightened at the same time, and the combination was a cocktail of seduction to her. She closed her eyes and rolled onto her side on the bed, putting her face in her hands. Just breathe, she told herself. Just breathe. ****

- 125 -

Heather Killough-Walden Five minutes later, Emma came down the stairs, her hair finger-combed into submission, her dress straightened, her shoes strapped on tight. Her skin glowed gold beneath the overhead lights, and there was a definite flush to her cheeks. Sam looked up from the drink he’d been mixing and caught sight of her as she came down the last three steps and rounded the corner. “Wow. You look fantastic, sweetheart. I suppose we can forgive some fashionable lateness, as long as the fashionable part is in there somewhere.” Patrick was beside them in an instant. “Emma, I know you’ve got a really good reason for doing this, so I’m going to let you slide.” He placed a drink in her left hand and curled her fingers around it. “As long as you start mingling this very instant.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around, being careful not to spill the drink he’d just given her. “See that woman over there? The one with the long brown hair? She’s the one who asked about your picture yesterday. Her name is Allison. She’s been waiting patiently to meet you, so be nice and deal with her first, okay?” Emma didn’t even have time to answer him before he was gently shoving her off in that direction. She stumbled, momentarily, not used to catching herself in heels, but she managed to find her balance quickly, and straightened without spilling any of the champagne Patrick had handed her. She took a deep breath and made her way across the gallery, a thousand thoughts racing through her head as she approached the woman, a friendly smile plastered to her face. The woman was attractive, around the same age as Emma, possibly five feet, four inches or so, with long, shiny brunette hair and a slight build. She stood, staring at one of Emma’s photos,

- 126 -

The Third Kiss with a kind of regal interest and patience that Emma knew she, herself, would never be able to pull off. “Hi,” Emma said, as she came up beside her. “I’m Emma. I’m so sorry I’m late getting here.” The woman turned and smiled warmly. “Not at all. I would have spent the time viewing your work anyway.” She had vivid gray-green eyes that stood out against her fair skin. She held out a hand. “I’m Allison.” Emma took her hand. The handshake was warm and firm and friendly. “Your brother says you’re thinking of publishing a collection of your work some time in the near future. Any ideas when that might be?” Allison asked politely as they moved away from the wall and began to casually stroll to the picture that Emma knew Allison was interested in. “No, not yet. I’m still in the find-an-agent phase of things. And you know how that goes.” Allison smiled brightly. “I really do, actually. I’m a writer. A few months ago, I finally managed to hook an agent after four years of rejections, so I empathize with you.” Emma was immediately interested. “You’re a writer? What do you write?” “Fiction. Fantasy and romance. Paranormal romance, mainly. I like vampires.” Emma’s fingers unconsciously relaxed around the glass she was holding, and it would have fallen if not for Dorian’s sudden appearance at her side. His fingers deftly curled around the stem of the flute and took it easily from her grasp. “Emma, you don’t mind if I finish this for you, do you?” He said, his tone one that an old friend would use. An old friend who’d perhaps had a few too many drinks. He turned a white smile on Allison and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Dorian. Emma told me I could attend the showing as long as I behaved myself, but I’m not sure I’m living up to my promises.” He chuckled softly. - 127 -

Heather Killough-Walden Allison’s smile turned dreamy. She shook his hand and her cheeks flushed pink. “I’m Allison. Just a customer. Emma’s work is incredible.” She said, her voice a shade more wistful than it had been a minute ago. Dorian nodded emphatically. “Absolutely, it is. Her abilities are one of a kind,” he said, his smile never wavering. There was more truth to that statement than the woman knew. After all, it wasn’t any female human who could bring a vampire prince to his knees with desire. Or birth a hundred half-vampires, for that matter. “Well, I’ll let you ladies get back to it.” He gave Emma a quick peck on the cheek and walked away. Emma turned to watch him go. “Wow. I thought your brother was hot, but Dorian really takes the cake,” Allison said, her voice low. And then she blinked and turned an utterly embarrassed look on Emma. “Ohmigosh. I’m so sorry. I sometimes stick my foot in my mouth. Is he…” “No. He’s just a friend,” Emma smiled reassuringly and told herself that she could win an Oscar for the performance she was pulling tonight. “And you’re right. He’s hot.” He’s also a vampire. Right up your alley. Allison looked at the floor for a moment, took a sip of her champagne, and then seemed to collect herself. “Um, I wanted to talk to you about your print, ‘The Smoky Eye’.” “Yes. Patrick told me that was the one you were interested in.” They crossed the remaining two yards to stand before the picture, and Allison looked up. Emma watched her intently. The woman’s features seemed to soften as she gazed up at the photograph, and what few, fine lines she had in her face relaxed into a mask of calm serenity. “I really like this one,” Allison said, not taking her eyes from the picture. “My mother was a photographer. She never made any money at it, but she was very good. Her favorite subjects were - 128 -

The Third Kiss birds in flight.” She turned her soft smile on Emma and gestured toward the print with a tilt of her head. “This one reminds me of her.” Emma looked up at the picture. The heron’s eye gazed out at them, unblinking, trapped forever, a window to the soul that could never be closed. She thought of her own mother. Leigh Abigail Nekoda had been a beautiful woman; strong, confident, and capable. Emma turned to Allison again and studied her more closely. She was able to do so because Allison had once again turned her own attention to the picture. Allison looked a lot like Leigh had. Emma should know. She would never forget her mother’s beauty. Allison did not resemble Leigh in every physical sense, but in the way she stood, in the passion that shone in her eyes, in the grace with which she moved – she mirrored her mother’s spirit, and Emma found herself blinking back a sudden sting of tears. “I’ll let you have it for two hundred,” she said suddenly. Allison looked down at her. Her eyes were wide, her expression one of confusion and disbelief. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Emma smiled, and this time it wasn’t at all forced. “I’ll give it to you for two hundred,” she repeated. “But your brother quoted it at six hun–” “I know,” Emma interrupted gently. “I want you to have it for two.” Allison stared at her. Emma could tell that she wasn’t sure what to say. So, Emma spoke up, instead. “The catch is you can’t tell anyone I charged you less than half price.” She laughed softly and held out her hand once again. “Deal?” Allison’s smile was ear-to-ear. She nodded emphatically. “Deal!” she said and then laughed. - 129 -

Heather Killough-Walden Emma felt good inside. She might be on the way to become someone’s living, breathing, reproduction machine, but at least she made someone feel good today. Not that her being a reproduction machine wouldn’t make someone feel good, she amended, it just wouldn’t make someone good feel good. She could tell that Allison was a good person. She turned away from the woman and waved a hand at Patrick, who she wasn’t surprised to find spying on them from the corner of his eye. He nodded, casually made his way through the crowd to where they were standing, and cocked his head to one side. “Patrick, Will you please help Allison with her purchase?” Patrick nodded once and turned a congenial smile on the brunette. “Absolutely. If you’ll just follow me.” He placed a gentle hand at Allison’s back and guided her toward the business end of the gallery. “It was very nice to meet you, Allison,” Emma said as they left. “Good luck with that book.” “Likewise, Emma.” Allison winked at her and then was gone. **** Dorian watched Emma from where he stood across the room, making polite conversation with a group of Emma’s admirers. They admired her work, and he admired just about everything else. A lot. He’d listened in on her conversation with Allison, and then, when Emma had gone quiet as Allison was gazing up at the picture, he’d done something he probably shouldn’t have done. She’d told him to stay out of her head, but he couldn’t help grazing it just once, to see what had caused the tears to form in her eyes.

- 130 -

The Third Kiss And now his heart was playing tricks on him again. It beat irregularly and he felt strange inside, a little flushed, and even a bit dizzy. And, for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes off of Emma. She’d given the print away for less than half of its worth. She needed that money, had bills to pay and debt to clear. But it had been more important to her to make Allison happy. He continued to watch her, now, as people approached her and walked her to one print or another, asking questions, inquiring about how she’d taken the pictures, wondering what the ballpark figures of their prices were. And she handled it with a grace and kindness to spare. She was a rare being; a woman beautiful, both on the outside, and in. His people didn’t deserve her as their queen. “So, what do you think of it?” came a female voice from beside him. With great effort, he tore his gaze away from the object of his desire and looked down at the woman who’d approached him. She was perhaps twenty-five, with curly ash-blonde hair, and lots of makeup. She was staring up at him like she wanted to eat him for dinner, but she gestured to the photograph that hung on the wall above them. Dorian looked up at the picture and actually took a minute to study it. He hadn’t really been looking at the work before now, his attention constantly riveted by the woman who had taken the photographs, and not by the photographs themselves. But now that he was actually examining it, he realized that he should have been giving it far more attention all along. This one was a shot of a woman’s body, standing, nude in the bayou, her hair wet, her skin covered in leaves and bits of vine and mud. It was taken from the back and at an angle to catch

- 131 -

Heather Killough-Walden the glistening on the water caused by the setting sun. It was purposely blurred and filtered to give the photograph an aura of mystery and the viewer a sense of un-breachable separation. It made him feel bereft and stirred a deep yearning within him, at the same time. He knew, deep down in his bones, whose body that was. It was an utterly amazing set up for a self-portrait. The palm-reading girl in Jackson Square had been right about Emma. She was a perfectionist. The print was exquisite. “I think it’s magnificent,” he said honestly. “I believe I’ll buy it.” “Oh, sorry, sweetie, but it’s already been bought.” He looked down at the blonde girl and she smiled and shrugged, pointing to a small sign that had been tacked to the board beneath the print. “See? Sold. Someone else has the same tastes as you,” she told him playfully. “I guess you’ll have to move faster next time.” Dorian stared at the little red “sold” sign beneath the picture. His gaze darkened. “Excuse me,” he said as he then turned away and scanned the crowd, letting his mental powers span out in a spider’s web, searching for the person who had purchased the print. When he at last located the man, he pinned him with a glacial gaze and headed off across the gallery to speak with him. **** Julien Adalard withdrew his fangs from the vampire’s neck and licked his lips. He took a few steps back and casually studied his victim. The man had just about had it. One more feeding and the Russian’s heart would stop beating. Julien turned and left the room, the two guards at the door both bowing low. They locked the dungeon cell behind him as he moved out into the hall. Tristan was beside him immediately. “Are Miss Nekoda’s quarters finished?”

- 132 -

The Third Kiss “Yes, my liege. I have tried to think of everything. Of course, once she is settled in, she will want her things brought from her home in Texas.” “Of course. We will make whatever adjustments and modifications necessary at that time.” Julien climbed the stairs to the main level of the mansion and strode down the hall to the study. “I assume you have had the cameras set up.” “Yes, my lord.” “Dorian will be bringing her later this night. I want guards stationed at all entrances, and I want her taken directly to her room. Once she is there, post two guards outside her door and inform me of her arrival.” Julien sat down behind his desk and thought in silence for a moment. “As far as the daylight hours are concerned, her only protection falls to either mortals… or to Dorian.” Tristan said nothing, knowing the king was merely thinking aloud. “Therefore, if he wishes to remain with her at that time, allow him to do so. He is to be granted access to and from her room, but no one else is. Leave the cameras running at all times, and make certain she does not leave her quarters.” “Yes, my lord.” Tristan bowed low and left the room, softly closing the door behind him. Julien pulled the cell phone from the top drawer of the desk and pushed speed dial. **** Dorian felt the cell vibrating in his front pocket. On impulse, he searched the room for Emma. His eyes found her and held her location like a hunter would his prey. She was standing amongst a group of young men, explaining the significance of something in one of her photos. Dorian’s gaze narrowed. He didn’t need to bother with reading their minds to know that they weren’t as interested in what she was saying as they were in the way she moved when she said it. - 133 -

Heather Killough-Walden Her face lit up with the kind of passion a real artist feels for her work. She smiled and her white teeth were brilliant, her lips still red and slightly swollen from his kisses. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her long golden hair shimmered and teased where it fell over her bare shoulders and brushed, tauntingly, against her exposed flesh. She was radiant, and her male admirers were eating it up. The phone rang again and Dorian suppressed a growl. He pulled it from his inside jacket pocket and opened it, placing it to his ear. “Voronoi’s men have been dealt with.” “Good,” came his reply. His voice sounded gruff, even to his own ears. “Petit Frere, you sound… distracted.” Julien paused on his end, as if considering what to make of the tension in his brother’s voice. “She is safe?” He finally asked. “Yes.” If you don’t count the human sharks circling her right now. “Then I’ll expect her before dawn.” “Understood.” This time, Dorian disconnected first, and thrust the phone distractedly back into his pocket. His gaze was smoldering, his teeth clenched, as he stared at the three men standing around his Emma Rose. One of them had obtained a drink from the bar and was putting it in her hand. They had positioned themselves to block her in, most likely unconsciously, in that manner that men do when they find something they want and don’t want it to run away. He could empathize with the need. He had the urge to do that to Emma, himself. But right now, he was feeling an entirely different urge swim to the surface inside of him. He moved into the crowd, a graceful, gorgeous predator amongst a throng of utterly unsuspecting quarry. **** - 134 -

The Third Kiss “So, your bio on the brochure says you’re a vegan and an atheist and you live in Lubbock, Texas?” Simon asked her, a look of sympathy and amusement on his face. “I’ve been to Lubbock,” he continued. “Aren’t there something like three churches on every city block? In fact, don’t the Dixie Chicks sing something about it?” Emma laughed. Yes, the ‘Chicks did sing about Lubbock, and they were dead on about it. Natalie Maines had lived in Lubbock before becoming famous. She’d worked at Orlando’s, which Emma sometimes frequented, because their low-carb penne pasta was vegan. You had to take what you could get in Lubbock. “Yes, I think it’s called ‘Lubbock or Leave It’,” Emma told him. Robert spoke up. “So, what on earth are you doing there?” he asked, his tone was inquisitive and very friendly, if not more than a little surprised. It was a fair question. Emma stood out to a ridiculous degree in the heart of Christian cattle country. “My parents got married in the church I renovated.” She paused. She suddenly didn’t feel much like explaining further. The next words came out in a much softer voice, and her gaze drifted from Robert’s face to some point over his shoulder, where she looked at nothing at all. “They grew up in Louisiana, but their parents didn’t want them to marry. So, they eloped – to Lubbock… And I found the church where they wed,” she continued, her voice increasingly distant, “and bought it with my inheritance.” “It’s large enough for the two of us, plus any kids we have later,” came a familiar deep voice beside her. Emma turned to face Dorian just as he was slipping an arm possessively around her waist and pressing his hand to her stomach. The hand was a brand, a mark. It clearly said mine. She could only stare at him in surprise, blinking repeatedly as she mentally digested what he’d just said. - 135 -

Heather Killough-Walden His words seemed to have had the same effect on the three men with her, for none of them spoke right away, either. The silence stretched into discomfort, and then, finally, Simon cleared his throat. “So, the two of you are…” “Engaged,” Dorian finished. He’d said it with authority. Finality. Emma blinked some more. “Oh.” Simon’s face had gone pale. Dorian watched as all three men glanced at Emma’s ring finger. It was bare. If he’d thought of it earlier, Dorian would have rectified that. After all, Emma was, to a fashion, engaged. Not to Dorian, but she was engaged, nonetheless. Julien would not have minded purchasing a ring for his future bride. In fact, he most likely intended to give her his mother’s ring, at some point in the near future. Probably, he would do so after she’d made the change. The French king knew how important it was to keep up appearances in mortal society, and he would eventually introduce Emma, as his wife, to the presses. However, at the moment, she appeared unclaimed. Which left Dorian no choice but to play hard ball. When the men looked from Emma’s hand back up to Dorian, he caught their gazes, one at a time, and shot a single command into their minds, with brute force. Back. Off. The third man, who was also named Robert, but went by “Bob”, almost immediately glanced at his watch. “It looks like you’re about to close up,” he offered, almost conversationally, as if nothing had just transpired. He looked up from his watch to the crowd of people that had formed on the opposite end of the gallery. Sam and Patrick were busy with transactions, as, sensing that they

- 136 -

The Third Kiss were out of time, everyone had finally made up their minds on whether or not to buy, and which prints they liked the most. “I’m going to go claim my picture before someone else does, guys. I’ll see you in a few.” “It was very nice to meet you, Bob,” Emma said as he began to take his leave. He turned to her and smiled warmly. “The pleasure was all mine. Keep up the good work!” He nodded at her, then at Dorian, and hurried to the back of the room. Dorian brushed his mind as he left, just out of curiosity. Robert Gafna, Bob, was gay. He’d been helping his friends with Emma, out of general male courtesy, but he had actually been far more interested in Emma’s photographs than in Emma, herself. And he truly was hoping to purchase one of them. He felt it would match perfectly with his black and white décor. In fact, Bob relentlessly chastised himself for wasting as much time as he had, as he rushed to the register, and hoped that he still had a chance at the print he wanted. Dorian turned his attention back to the two men across from him and tried not to smile. They looked dazed. He almost felt sorry for them. “Um, Robert, Simon, it was certainly a pleasure to make your acquaintances,” Emma said as she held out her hand, to Simon first. Simon took a deep breath, obviously just grateful to have an out from the situation, and took her hand. He shook it warmly and smiled. Robert did the same. “And now, my dear, we have other matters to attend to. Shall we head back?” Dorian turned his attention to Emma, capturing her gaze with his and gesturing toward the back of the gallery with his free hand. His expression was mostly gentle but there was a warning to the set of his jaw that made it seem downright unyielding. Emma would have taken Dorian aside and soundly reprimanded him for the small debacle he’d just caused, but the truth was, she was too preoccupied with the fact that the one thing that - 137 -

Heather Killough-Walden had kept her from being whisked off to Baton Rouge right away was nearly over. Once the gallery closed, Emma would have no excuse to remain in New Orleans. Dorian would take her to Julien’s mansion, and to Julien, himself. The vampire king. And her immortal life as a breeding slave to a man she’d never even met would begin. Dorian could sense her apprehension, and could easily guess its source. He took her gently, but firmly, and walked her toward the staircase. Once they had reached its bottom step, he turned to her and cupped her face in his hands. “It’s going to be okay, Emma.” He said, softly, knowing he was lying to her. “No, it isn’t.” She told him, shaking her head. “You know it isn’t.” For one of the very few times in his life, Dorian didn’t know what to say. She was right. She would go with him to Baton Rouge, without a fight, because he’d told her that if she didn’t, Julien would have her brother killed. And it had been the truth. But she was terrified, and he didn’t blame her one bit. Julien Adalard was ruthless. He was evil. He would never come to truly love Emma, not in ten years and not in a hundred. He would simply use her, an object of desire and obsession to him, and she would never know any peace. He would turn her into a vampire, and she would never again see the light of day. That, in itself, was enough to send Emma into a mild state of shock. She loved the sun. She looked like she belonged in the sun, with her golden hair and bronzed skin. She didn’t want to live an eternity of darkness, and he could empathize with that. After all, he’d never been bound by the night, himself. Emma’s life was about to change forever.

- 138 -

The Third Kiss He stared down at her, at the fear that made her eyes large and luminous, and sucked the color from her cheeks. He desperately wanted to enter her mind and use his powers to bring her some sense of peace. But she’d told him, in no uncertain terms, that she absolutely did not want him inside her head again. And, even if he decided to invade her thoughts without her permission, her parents’ death had erected some hefty walls around her sub-consciousness. It was far from effortless with her. It would be so much easier if she would simply open up to him. “I can help you with this, Emma.” Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” “If you’ll let me in,” and he tapped his finger against her temple to show her what he was referring to, “I can take some of the fear away. I can make this easier for you.” Emma’s eyes widened. “No. Absolutely not.” “You’re terrified, Emma, and there’s no way out for either of us. Why won’t you let me help you?” “Dorian, I really hate the idea of someone being able to read my mind, much less control it. Please stay out.” She said it with such fervent passion and with such a pleading look in her large almond eyes that he was momentarily taken aback. But frustration rode him hard. He gazed down at her. Not for the first time since he’d met her, he considered just doing what he should do to make things easier on them both, whether she wanted him to or not. In the end, however, he did not. He brought his hands away from her face and, though he knew she would suffer for it, he respected her wishes. “We have to go. You need to talk to your brother.” Emma took a deep breath. “Right.” They’d planned what she would tell him, and she knew the story was convincing, but that didn’t make the prospect of lying to her only living relative any - 139 -

Heather Killough-Walden easier. She sighed and turned around to make her way to the back of the room. Dorian followed close behind. On the way back, she passed the last of the paying customers. The woman was digging for keys in her purse while the man hefted a large framed photograph over his shoulders and tried not to bump it into anything on his way out. She guessed they’d opted not to have it delivered because they were from out of state. And they had to be driving, too, because a large photograph would be troublesome flight luggage. When the woman turned a huge smile on Emma and rushed to shake her hand as she was leaving, Emma paused and took it. “Lovely work, Miss Nekoda. We just love photography, don’t you know. And I’d wanted to find something like this while we were here.” She was right about them being from out of state. Where had they driven in from? Fargo? That was some commute. “I’m so glad that you like it. I hope you continue to enjoy it, and have a safe trip back,” Emma told her, then bid them goodnight. Sam was following them out, keys in his hand. He flashed a big smile at Emma and then noticed Dorian walking right behind her. His eyebrow arched. Dorian cut an impressive figure, especially in a suit. Sam flashed Emma an expression of keen curiosity. She bit the inside of her cheek and arched her brows right back. Eventually, they made it to the back of the room, and Patrick glanced up from where he’d been totaling check and credit card transaction amounts. “We did really well, Emm, despite the fact that you decided to practically give a few of your prints away.” He shot her a reprimanding look, but there was no real malice in it.

- 140 -

The Third Kiss “It’s my prerogative,” she answered with a shrug. “I think some of them were overpriced, anyway.” Patrick pinned her with an insulted glare. “I do not overcharge my customers, Emma Rose. Trust me, your work was worth it.” He let it drop then and turned his attention to Dorian, who had come to stand beside her. Patrick’s expression became instantly wary. Dorian may be handsome and expensively dressed, but he was also standing very, very close to Patrick’s little sister. “Um, Patrick, I want you to meet someone,” Emma said, and gestured to Dorian. “This is Dorian…” She paused, realizing that he’d never told her his last name. She covered the misstep quickly, though, and continued. “He works for Julien Adalard. He’s contacted Mr. Adalard for me and, apparently, the man is willing to allow me to photograph the gardens on his property.” Patrick’s eyes widened. He looked from Dorian to Emma and then back again. “You work for Adalard Enterprises?” He asked, the wariness fading, but still there. “How interesting. What do you do?” “Public Relations. Do you keep up with the business?” Patrick studied Dorian carefully. “Oh my god,” he muttered, as recognition set it. “You’re Dorian Bergeron! I’ve seen your face in the papers. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner!” Dorian smiled and shook the hand that Patrick offered. Okay, Emma thought. Now I feel a little left out. She had no idea who Dorian Bergeron was, or even what Adalard Enterprises was really all about. Business wasn’t her forte. Patrick, on the other hand, had loads of Business 2.0 and Fortune magazines, both in the rack in his bathroom, and spread across the coffee table at home. It was that damned MBA from Tulane. He could talk business all day. - 141 -

Heather Killough-Walden All she could do was tell you that the days of the week originated in Norse Mythology and that the most religions were based on incomplete and inconsistent historical documents written by men and then canonized nearly into oblivion. She blushed furiously and tried not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. “Emma, this man is an industry genius.” Patrick was holding Dorian’s hand between both of his, and Emma wondered exactly how excited to see Dorian her brother really was. From behind them, she could hear Sam approaching. Patrick instantly released Dorian’s hand, as if he’d been doing something wrong. “I’m not really a genius. Emma is, though, and I know that Forbes magazine has been bothering Mr. Adalard, for some time, to get shots of his mansion and property. I can tell that Emma has the perfect eye for it. So, I’ve invited her up.” Emma’s blush didn’t fade. She wanted to look up at Dorian, but didn’t dare, in her current state. “What’s this I hear?” Sam asked as he came up behind them and lovingly put his hand at Emma’s back. “You’re going to shoot Julien Adalard’s estate?” Emma looked up at him and nodded. “Yes, but we have to leave tonight.” “Tonight?” Patrick’s brows drew together. “Why tonight?” “I’m afraid that Julien and I have an early flight tomorrow,” Dorian answered, “But I can drive Emma up to the mansion tonight and introduce her to him. I know the two will hit it off, and he’ll most likely give her free run of the place for the week.” Patrick stared at him for a moment, and then he and Sam both uttered sounds of mutual astonishment. “Wow… Emma, Forbes magazine!” Patrick sputtered.

- 142 -

The Third Kiss “Sweetheart, I’m not a huge fan of the magazine, itself, but even I have to admit that this could catapult your career,” Sam said, his voice a shade calmer than Patrick’s. “I think you should do it.” “Really?” she asked, feigning dubious excitement and wanting to throw up. “Yes, really,” Patrick agreed. “But wear the dress when you meet him. Not the jeans.” “Oh, well, I’m riding a –” “You’re right, the dress would be perfect,” Dorian interrupted and then turned to face her. She still didn’t want to look at him, but in order to maintain a convincing air of business-like indifference, she turned and looked into his eyes. He held them steady. “Besides, I’m not certain we have time for you to change, Emma. It’s already pretty late, and the drive is an hour long. I’ll have the car pulled around for you in ten minutes. Sound good?” “Okay,” she answered, feeling a strange sense of numbness flood her body. Was this really happening? Was it like saying goodbye forever? Would she ever be allowed to see her brother, or Sam, again?

- 143 -

Heather Killough-Walden

Chapter Eight Emma stuffed her jeans, shirt, undies, and the jacket and boots that Dorian had given her into the plastic garbage bag she’d found beneath the sink in the upstairs guest bathroom. She didn’t have her satchel with her, so this was going to have to do. If she was going to travel to another city and marry a complete stranger, she at least wanted to take something of her own with her for comfort. When she was done with the clothes, she moved to her camera, which she’d laid on the bed earlier that night, and retrieved its case from the floor beside the closet. She gently slipped the camera into the case, wishing she had an extra cap handy to protect the lens. It really wasn’t all that badly damaged. The casing had taken some scratches and a dent or two, but the lens had been un-marred. She was very relieved about that. She had no desire to spend another thousand dollars on a brand new camera. Not that she wouldn’t have the money after tonight, she mused. And if she didn’t mind taking pictures at night, exclusively, she might actually enjoy blowing a bunch of cash on really expensive lighting and backdrops. Hell, maybe she actually would photograph Adalard’s estate. She knew Julien Adalard was a billionaire. She bet he wouldn’t even mind purchasing the kind of lighting that made it appear as if the photos were taken during the day. Like, ball-park lighting. I’m proud of you, Emma Rose, she thought to herself. At least you’re looking on the bright side. She finished zipping up the case, and then took it, and the plastic bag, down stairs.

- 144 -

The Third Kiss Patrick and Sam were waiting for her at the base of the stairwell. Sam took the bags from her, as he always did, and then pulled her into a bear hug. “Do you have your phone?” he asked. She nodded into his shoulder. “Yes. It’s in the bag.” He released her slowly, and it was Patrick’s turn to pull her into an embrace. “Emm, call me if you need anything, okay?” He pulled away. “I mean, not that you’ll need anything. Adalard is very wealthy, and I’m sure he’ll make you comfortable, and –” “I’ll be fine.” “Whoa…” Emma glanced up at Sam, who was gazing out the dark windows. “A black Rolls-Royce Phantom just pulled up in front of the store.” His voice was soft with awe. “Do you think that’s him?” A chill went through Emma. This was it. That was Dorian. She’d seen the car in the garage earlier that afternoon. There was no turning back now. “That’s him. I’d better go.” Patrick looked down at her. There was a strange expression on his face. He was excited for her, but he was obviously sad to see her go. And there was something else, too; a tinge of some other emotion that barely registered. Worry? Doubt? “Bye, guys. I’ll see you soon. And Patrick, thank you for letting me do the show. It meant a lot to me.” She stood on her tippy-toes, which was more difficult to do in heels, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Then she did the same to Sam, which would have been logistically impossible if he hadn’t leaned over to help. She pulled away from the big man to find Patrick’s hand digging into her jacket pocket. - 145 -

Heather Killough-Walden “What –” He pulled her cell phone out and turned it on. “It was off again last night and, again, I couldn’t reach you. Don’t you touch this button,” Patrick pointed at the little red off-button and shot her a warning glance. She smiled as he then shoved it back into her pocket. Then she was taking the bags from him and walking across the gallery. They followed behind, and by the time she stepped out into the humid night air, real dread had found its way to her heart and taken hold. She watched as Dorian opened his door and stepped out of the car. He was a figure cut to perfection, standing beside an automobile most people never got to see in their lifetimes, much less ride in. He moved, with fluid, beautiful grace, to the passenger side door, and opened it. Then he waited. For the briefest of instants, she thought of running. But she stayed where she was. Her brother’s life was at stake, and perhaps other people’s as well. And it would be the most futile, not to mention, the shortest-lived, exercise in freedom anyhow. Dorian would be upon her before her second breath. Besides, she really couldn’t run in heels. Dorian was watching her steadily. She wondered how long she’d been standing there on that street corner. She felt Sam and Patrick at her back, but they said nothing, and remained where they were. She took a shaky breath and moved forward, approaching Dorian, and the car, as if she were walking the Green Mile. She reached the open door and was about to climb in, when Dorian’s hand was on her wrist, gently stopping her. She looked up into his blue eyes, and he held her gaze. “Tell me one last time that you’re okay, and I’ll let the subject drop, Emma. Otherwise, I want you to let me help you with this.” - 146 -

The Third Kiss His tone was serious, calm and gentle, but stern. “I can feel your terror coming off of you in waves. I can smell it. It’s going to make you crazy before we reach Baton Rouge.” Emma stared up at him. She honestly didn’t know what to say. It was true, she was petrified. Her stomach hurt with the fear. She was about to give her life away. She was about to lose everything – her home, her freedom, the sun and daylight, her body and her mind. When she’d been a child, she’d fallen in love with Sesame Street’s The Count. She’d loved the way he lived in a castle, wore a cape, and laughed every time he found the number of the day. She had even loved his fangs. Then, when she was ten, she’d watched “The Lost Boys”. She’d fallen in love with David, his black clothing and stark-blonde hair. She’d loved the motorcycles, of course – his was a Triumph – and when her mother had winked at her and agreed that the boys were hunks, she’d laughed and dreamed of them every night for weeks on end. And like every other red-blooded woman in the United States, she’d had a thing for Brad Pitt, and then Stuart Townsend, when they’d both played notorious vampires in the film adaptations of Anne Rice’s vampire novels. But those had all been safe fascinations. She’d been distanced, by the space and time boundaries of the dimension of the imagination. This was real. She wasn’t dreaming. She wasn’t in a movie. And now that she found herself in a situation that she couldn’t cope with on those familiar grounds, she was wondering what the hell had ever held her in such fascination in the first place. Fangs? So what? Dogs had fangs. Black clothing? Anyone could wear black. Money? Donald Trump had money. It sure as hell didn’t make him any sexier. No. She wasn’t handling this very well. She could barely feel her legs. - 147 -

Heather Killough-Walden She gazed up at Dorian, all of these thoughts, and a jumble more, racing like a flash flood through her befuddled head, and then – she was seated on the soft leather passenger side, a belt strapped safely across her hips and chest, and they were pulling up to the gates of a mansion. She blinked. “What –” “The drive would have killed you, Emma. We’re here now.” Emma turned to the driver’s side of the luxury car. Dorian’s eyes cut to her. His expression was a bit guilty, but not at all sorry. He pulled the car to a stop at the gate and waited as it swung slowly open. There were two guards stationed on either side of the wrought-iron railing. Dorian nodded at them, in turn, and they nodded back. He pulled the car through and Emma stared out the window. He’d put her under some sort of mental anesthesia for the entire trip. She’d asked him to stay out of her head, but in all honesty, now that they were here, and she’d been able to basically skip the entire fifty minutes of dreadful fretting, she couldn’t say that she was all that upset he’d gone against her wishes. The trees lining the long drive to the mansion finally parted and Emma got a view of the grounds beyond. They went on forever. It was perfectly manicured and landscaped with mushroom lights, tier lights, flood lights, and well lights that gave the entire lot of endless acreage a distinctly ethereal appeal. It looked like a fairy land. Emma was instantly enchanted. She even managed to forget about the fact that she was about to meet Julien Adalard. As she gazed out over the vast gardens and their beckoning, welcoming cubby holes and lit trails, she thought to herself, I could spend forever here… And then the car was pulling around in a giant circular drive, and men were approaching the vehicle from all angles. Dorian calmly put the car in park and opened his door. At the same time, - 148 -

The Third Kiss Emma’s door opened. A very large bald man who barely fit into his tailored suit was offering her his hand. She blinked up at him, and then down at his hand. In the next instant, Dorian was there beside him to take his place. The man stepped aside respectfully. Dorian leaned over her, a gentle, reassuring smile on his handsome face, and unbuckled her seatbelt. She seemed to be in somewhat of a daze, because she still hadn’t found the urge to move. He then took her hands in his and helped her out of the car. She stood, her legs somewhat wobbly beneath her, and looked up at the mansion in front of them. It was immense. It loomed over them, all marble and columns and great, gaping foyers, with doors swung wide open and gigantic crystal chandeliers glimmering from beyond. The walls of the mansion were blanketed in ivy and blooms. The air smelled of honeysuckle, despite the lateness of the season. There was a magical air to the home, an other-ness of unnatural beauty that quickly reminded her of whom its owner was and why she was here. Her heart beat hard against her rib cage, her pulse quickening. Dorian’s grip tightened on her hands. He bent to whisper in her ear. “Just breathe, Emma.” She closed her eyes. His breath across her ear lobe and neck sent warmth rushing through her system. She told herself that, as long as he didn’t leave her side, she would make it through this somehow. She would let Julien do what he wanted with her, and as long as it didn’t hurt too badly, she would somehow survive. She would get used to living at night. She would get used to her place in the world. As long as Dorian was there.

- 149 -

Heather Killough-Walden She opened her eyes and looked up at him. His blue eyes were an ocean of promise, of protection. And something else. Something she couldn’t identify. Dorian looked away from her then, as another man came down the front steps of the mansion’s entrance and approached them. He was as bald as had been the giant that had attempted to help her out of the car, but not nearly as tall. He was stout, maybe a hand taller than Emma. He had a pleasant air about him, and eyes as green as grass. “My lord,” he nodded to Dorian. Dorian nodded, in return. “Tristan, this is Emma Rose Nekoda.” Tristan turned to Emma and graced her with a genuine smile of affection. His eyes shone brightly as he turned them on her. He seemed to almost appraise her for a moment, and from the look on his face, it was plain to Emma that he was pleased with what he saw. “Miss Nekoda. It is an honor to meet you.” He bowed low, and Emma’s eyes widened. She had no idea how to react to something of the sort. But he rose and did not appear to have been expecting any sort of reciprocation. Instead, he offered her his elbow. “If you’ll come with me, my lady, I will show you the mansion and help you to your quarters.” With great reluctance, Emma released her hold on Dorian’s hands. She was losing her safety blanket. He seemed not to want to let go any more than she did, but he finally freed her hands from his and allowed Tristan to take her from his side. Tristan expertly reached for one of her arms and deftly wound it through his offered elbow, placing his hand above hers and holding it softly in place as he led her away from the drive and up the stairs of the mansion. - 150 -

The Third Kiss Dorian watched them go. And then another vampire approached him. “My lord, his majesty wishes to see you. He waits in the library.” Dorian nodded, at that moment, wanting to see Julien about as much as he wanted to pluck his own eyeball from his face with a salad fork. The vampire nodded and left. Dorian took a deep breath and made his way into the mansion. **** He found the vampire king sitting, with his back to the door, in front of an electric fire place that was purely for looks. The flames were agreeable, giving off a comforting appeal, but they were encased behind glass and gave off no heat whatsoever. “She’s here.” Julien turned in his chair and regarded his half-brother with ice blue eyes. “I know. I can sense her presence.” He stood, fluid grace and darkness, and approached his brother. Dorian waited, in stillness, as Julien came to stand within a mere few inches of him. “Tell me, Dorian. How much trouble can I expect from you over the next three nights?” Julien’s tone was calm, his voice barely more than a whisper, but there was a wealth of menace behind his words. Dorian stared into his eyes, which mirrored his own almost exactly, and did not blink. He didn’t bother to answer. The cat was already out of the bag on the fact that Dorian had feelings for Emma. The ball was in Julien’s court now. The queen was in his castle. For a split second, Julien’s eyes cut to the jagged scar on Dorian’s neck. And then he was gazing deeply into his eyes again. “I want you to know this, Dorian. When Emma gives me my first child, I can do two things with you. I can either destroy you. Or let you go.” - 151 -

Heather Killough-Walden Again, Dorian said nothing. “The choice, mon frere, is yours.” At that, Julien stepped around Dorian and left the library. Dorian stared into the heatless flames of the hearth across the room. Julien’s meaning was plain. But, for some reason, it weighed hollow on Dorian’s mind. It meant almost nothing. At that moment, the only thing he could think about was the fact that Emma had most likely already been taken to her room. Where her bed was. And that Julien was on his way to join her there. **** Far below the library, three floors down, and through a barred iron door, a vampire near his second death stirred on the crucifix to which he’d been manacled. His throat was a raw, bloody mess. It had stopped trying to heal after the last feeding that Julien had ordered. His eyes were glazed. His fangs, useless, but sharp, had cut into his lip so many times, as he’d cried out and bit down in pain, that his lips were a mass of cuts and bruises. And his heart beat dwindled, grew fainter, and skipped more and more beats every second. Nikolai Yokov knew he was going to die, and soon. He knew Julien Adalard had turned him into a wraith. He knew, with stark certainty, that he was bound to an eternity of servitude, as a soulless, mindless phantom of the vampire he’d once been. He let his head fall back against the strong wood of the croix de alimenter and closed his unseeing eyes. He was not surprised Julien had possessed a hoard of the forbidden monsters. Julien Adalard was cold-blooded, pitiless, and brutal. Yokov had never seen a wraith before they’d jumped him in Adalard’s underground corridor and dragged him to this dungeon. And now he would join their ranks.

- 152 -

The Third Kiss The sound of keys in a lock across the room roused him just as he’d been about to drift into a mortal unconsciousness. With great effort, he raised his head, and tried to focus, through the haze that his vision had become, on the figure now stepping through the door. “Mon ami…” came a familiar voice. Nikolai closed his eyes, let his head fall back once again, and smiled a wry smile. “You are too late,” he said, his voice no more than a raspy whisper. “I know. I cannot save you. He would smell my blood on you. And I cannot free you. If I did, he would take the woman and flee, and Aleksei would never find her.” Nikolai thought of the man’s words. He did not want to admit it, but he was right. As important as Nikolai’s own life may feel to him at that very moment, his king’s bride was more so. He realized, then, that there truly was no hope for him. But, perhaps, in dying, he could do something to help the man before him so that his death would not be utterly without purpose. “I must tell you something,” Nikolai said slowly, barely able to get the words out, swallowing as a cold darkness began to blanket his being. “Dorian is not the only one of his kind.” He swallowed, gulping down his own blood, and then choking on it. He coughed violently. The fit took nearly the last of his energy. “There is another.” Silence greeted these words, and Nikolai knew he had the man’s undivided attention. “Another of the kings…” Nikolai felt the strength slipping from him. Was he even talking any longer? The world had gone black. “Not Aleksei…” He managed to say. Or had he? And then everything was dark, and he was embraced by a welcome numbness. The man standing before him watched him die. There was nothing he could do to revive him, nothing he could do to save the man he had called friend for more than a hundred years. Julien had destroyed him, as he had so many others before him. - 153 -

Heather Killough-Walden But Nikolai had imparted a secret before he’d died. And it was a powerful one. The man gently ran his thumb and forefinger over Nikolai Yokov’s wide, unseeing eyes, and closed them. He would awaken the next night as a wraith. As it was for most vampires, it had been Nikolai’s worst nightmare. On that thought, the man turned on his heel and left the dungeons. He had much to do. Very much, indeed. **** Emma paced the large bedroom of the massive suite she’d been locked in. It was beyond beautiful, much grander than anything she would ever have dreamt she’d one day own. But it was a gold-gilded cage, and nothing more. As kind and respectful as every one of the vampires and humans in Julien Adalard’s employ had been thus far, it had still been plain to her that she was very much a prisoner. Once she’d been offered food and refreshments, which there was no way she would have been able to eat at that moment, she’d been shown to her “quarters”. They spanned nearly an entire wing of the mansion, on the third floor. She had everything she could have wanted, from exercise machinery – what was the point? – to a giant entertainment system, complete with popcorn machine and plush seating, with throws of every soft, luxurious material known to man. She had a dresser filled with lingerie of all brands and colors, all in her size. And the walk-in closet had been filled with clothing of every nature, from shorts and jeans and t-shirts to sweat pants and sweat shirts, jackets and sweaters, summer dresses, cocktail dresses and the most gorgeous evening gowns Emma had ever laid eyes on. And, of course, there were shoes to match.

- 154 -

The Third Kiss Not a single one of them leather. Half of them were Stella McCartney’s. Though she’d never been able to afford any of the vegan fashion diva’s clothing or shoes, Emma had always greatly admired both the woman and her work. How had they known? She’d been researched, obviously, and the extent to which they’d gone to learn her way of life would have made her uneasy if she hadn’t already been more nervous than her tiny frame could handle. As it was, she was shaking as she strode across the massive room. Her legs felt weak, her knees numb. She felt queasy and restless and dizzy. And then the lock in the door was tumbling open, and she found herself standing stock-still, staring wide-eyed at the handle as it turned and the door swung inward. Don’t faint, don’t faint… The man who entered was one of the most incredibly, impossibly, handsome men Emma had ever seen. Scratch that. She’d only ever seen one other man as gorgeous as this, and that was Dorian. The man who now pinned her with his ice blue eyes and entered her bedroom was something straight out of a dream. A dark dream. A dark, seductive, wet dream. He stood roughly the same height as Dorian, maybe six feet and two or three inches. His build was strong but lean, and absolutely perfect. His hair was long, wavy and jet-black, streaked with the deep blue highlights that only the purest black can achieve. It set off the azure fire in his eyes, which were penetrating in the extreme. They were a lot like Dorian’s. Emma knew she was done for. If this was Julien Adalard, she would be hard pressed to resist him. She could feel his power even from this distance. He approached her slowly, surely, gliding across the carpet like a dark angel. - 155 -

Heather Killough-Walden Angel of death, she thought, and then wondered where the thought had come from. “Emma,” he said, and his voice wrapped around her like so much dark silk, sensual to the point that it nearly smothered. She was finding it hard to breathe. “I am Julien. At last, we meet.” Emma fought not to step back, not to fall, not to do anything but continue to breathe. In with one breath, out with the other. How could a man be so beautiful? Was this truly the one who had ordered her kidnapped and brought back here, with or without her consent? Was this the same man who had threatened her brother’s life? That thought helped her to remain on her feet, kept her from retreating as he came to stand a mere foot away from her. He towered over her, a full foot taller, just as Dorian did. He smiled, and she couldn’t help but notice that his lips were a lot like Dorian’s as well. The smile was gracious and stunning, but it also made him look hungry, and more than a little cruel. He is cruel, Emma. Don’t forget about Patrick. She flinched when he raised his hand, and he paused before bringing the backs of his fingers to very gently brush against her cheek. She shivered. His touch was electrifying. She was nearly dizzy with the mere presence of him. How could a man do this to her? Why was he having so strong an effect on her? It was almost as if he was not only a vampire, but a magic one, at that. She had to shake herself out of this. It reminded her of trying to escape the drowning pull of the sedatives that Voronoi’s men had injected into her. She was fighting off a kind of drug, a poison, a seduction that was finding its way into her muscles, her bones, her blood stream, and racing at a ruthless pace throughout her body.

- 156 -

The Third Kiss She was trapped in the sway of his eyes. He gently gripped her chin in the same hand that had caressed her cheek, and tilted her head back. He leaned in then, and she automatically closed her eyes. His lips brushed hers softly at first, cool and dry. And then she felt his tongue parting her lips as he deepened the kiss, pulling her in closer. She moaned and hated herself for it. Her mind was racing. She was giving in to him. She didn’t want to give in to him. He’s evil! She screamed it inside her mind, even as his kiss caused a heat to pool in her abdomen and spread between her legs. She heard a chuckle against her mouth and opened her eyes. “I see our Dorian has gone to great lengths to paint me in an unflattering light,” he said softly, his breath brushing against her lips as he spoke. His eyes bored into hers, holding her as immobile as the strongest chains would have. “I am sorry that our meeting must be under these conditions, Emma. It could not be helped.” He said it in such a sincere manner, his tone the softest whisper, his dark brows drawn together with painful remorse that she found she believed him, despite herself. She still hadn’t said anything to the vampire king, and she wondered whether she would be able to find her voice to do so, now. She gave it a try. “You threatened my brother’s life,” she said, amazed that she had the will to make such an accusation, in a relatively steady voice, even as his nearness was making her wet and dizzy. She recalled that she wasn’t wearing anything under the dress, and her cheeks went red. Could he tell she was aroused? Could vampires smell as well as they could see and hear. Please, no…

- 157 -

Heather Killough-Walden He held her there for several silent moments, the regret slowly fading from his eyes, to be replaced with an unrepentant determination that made Emma’s blood run cold. And yet, even then, her body yearned for his. Magic, indeed. “The truth is, Emma, I would have stopped at nothing to possess you.” He spoke the words calmly and then slowly pulled away from her. His gaze never left hers; his eyes never released her from their hold. “You don’t know how long I have waited to find you. Can you imagine wanting something for several life times, never knowing whether you would ever truly obtain it?” Emma could only shake her head. “The need for a vampire king to find his queen is driving, relentless. It shapes everything we do. It is everything we fight for.” Emma again found the resolve to speak. She took a deep breath and she forced herself to say as much as she could before she lost her will once more. “It isn’t your need for a queen that drives you. It’s your need for an army, your need for more power. You’re just selfish.” She swallowed. She couldn’t believe she’d just told him that. Her eyes widened. Oh shit, she thought. Allison wasn’t the only one who could stick her foot in her mouth. Julien Adalard watched her with an intensity that threatened to rip her insides to shreds. His gaze hardened and his eyes took on a familiar eerie glow. Emma began to feel strange. Light-headed. The air in the room was getting thick and she was finding it increasingly more difficult to breathe. “You are a spirited woman, Emma Rose. But you are no match for me. I have broken the will of kings. Do you truly believe you can resist me?” Emma couldn’t answer. She couldn’t speak. She could barely focus on breathing. She closed her eyes as the world began to turn. - 158 -

The Third Kiss She felt him then. He was standing behind her, one of his arms snaked around her waist, pressing her back into his hard form. He’d moved around her, in a split second, and without making a single sound. He possessed wholly unnatural speed, inhuman stealth. She thought she might fall. But his arm held her up. She could feel his arousal hard and unyielding against her back. But it barely registered amongst the chaos of other sensations that were assaulting her then. The scent of his cologne wafted over her, a deep spicy musk that made her nipples harden. His hand was spanning her stomach; its possessive heat searing through the material of her sheath. And then she felt the prick of his claws. The pain was sharp, but melted into the heat spreading through her until it was indistinguishable from pleasure. He lowered his lips to her ear. “I can smell your desire, ma petit fleur; you can not hide it from me.” He reached around with his free hand and gripped her chin, almost roughly. He turned her head to the side until he was able to capture her lips in a kiss that made her legs give out from under her. He held her up easily. She moaned against his mouth, not wanting to, again hating herself for her surrender, but he was too strong. It felt too good. She wanted him too badly. In the next instant, she found herself on the bed, not knowing, or caring, how she’d gotten there. Julien was looming over her, never having broken the kiss, his fingers still holding her chin in place. The heat pooling between her legs was almost unbearable. She writhed as the claws of his other hand shredded the dress from her small body, leaving her completely exposed and utterly vulnerable. He pulled away from her then, breaking the kiss in order to gaze down at her. His inhuman eyes were now changing colors, melting from a blue glow of passion into a purple haze. Emma watched, breathlessly, as they morphed once again until they blazed as red as burning blood. - 159 -

Heather Killough-Walden Fear once more awoke within Emma, to war with the near painful passion he had ignited within her. She wanted to scream, to run. But she lay there, frozen beneath him, and gazed up at his mouth as his fangs extended, long, white and needle-sharp. She knew, with absolute certainty, that he was going to use them on her. He would not hold back. Not like Dorian... Suddenly, Julien roared with rage and his hand was around her neck. He lifted her up by her throat and held her before him, like a rag doll. She pulled at his hand with both of hers, but his arm was a band of steel, his grip unbreakable. “What do I have to do to purge his name from your mind?” he asked her, his voice a guttural growl that lashed at her like the tendrils of a whip. She couldn’t answer, of course. She couldn’t even breathe. “Because, whatever it takes, I will do it. You are not his. You are mine. Mine!” He shook her with this last word, and stars began to fill her vision. He was completely shutting off the flow of blood to her brain, and air to her lungs. He’s going to kill me… “Oh, no, Emma,” he said as he then threw her back on to the bed with enough force that she bounced and rolled to the other side. “I won’t kill you. But you will learn. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll learn that Dorian does not deserve the attention you give him.” He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her back across the bed to him. She lay gasping for air as he took both of her wrists in one of his hands and pinned them to the bed above her head. He leaned in close and once again used his other hand to hold her by the chin so that she peered, helplessly, into his eyes. “And that I do.” He continued, hissing his words across her lips.

- 160 -

The Third Kiss With that, he roughly turned her head to the side, exposing the long column of her neck. In the next instant, he was on top of her, pressing her into the bed, and his fangs were sinking into her neck. The bite came with a pain unlike any she’d ever felt. And piggy-backing upon that pain, with enough force to drive all coherent thought from Emma’s mind, was a pleasure too intense to withstand. Emma opened her mouth and screamed, managing a piercing cry that filled the room and seared her own eardrums, despite the fact that she’d been choking only seconds before. He pulled hard against her throat and drank deep of her blood, his strong hands bruising her flesh as he pressed her wrists into the mattress. And as he did, each pull was accompanied by more pain and more pleasure, until her befuddled mind could not tell which was which. Heat ruthlessly seared through her body. Desire coiled in her belly. She ached and throbbed between her legs, her growing wetness testament to her need for release. He was tearing her up inside, making her crazy, and all he’d done was bite her. And then his hand released her chin and slid down her body between them until his fingers found the soft mound between her legs. He paused there, still drinking steadily. He pressed through the silken curls and down to her folds, exerting a pressure that was almost painful. She cried out as both his fingers and his fangs sank in deeper, as if solely to hurt her, and a sobbing moan of pain escaped her lips. Then his fingers were pulling out of her, his hand moving away from her wetness to lightly caress her inner thigh. In the next instant, as he pulled again at her throat and swallowed another mouthful of her blood, his claws pierced her there, carving into the creamy flesh. She tried to pull her leg away, to fight him off of her, but his own legs blocked her movement, and the pressure of his hands on her wrists had caused her arms to go numb. - 161 -

Heather Killough-Walden She couldn’t take much more. She was certain he was going to bleed her to death, and she would have an orgasm even as she drew her last breath. Tears poured freely down her cheeks. His claws finished marking her inner thigh, and his hand returned to her chin to hold her still as he slowly withdrew his fangs. She cried in silence, shamelessly, not caring if he saw. She ached everywhere, filled with throbbing pain and a need he had built with vicious ease, and would not satisfy. “Non, ma petit rose, this is to be your first lesson,” he said with a tenderness that belied his cruelty. He turned her head to face him. “Open your eyes and look at me, Emma.” She held them shut, the tears still squeezing out from behind the lids. She was too angry, hated him too much for bringing her to this insane level of painful need only to leave her in throbbing agony. “Look at me, now.” He told her again, and his thumb brushed against the teeth marks in her neck, extracting a cry of pain from her raw throat. Her eyes flew open and she was instantly trapped in his glacial gaze. “Do not defy me, Emma. You will not win. And every time you try, you will suffer. The pain and need you feel now may seem intense, but it is nothing, I guarantee it.” He shook his head slowly. “Don’t make me punish you again.” He spoke the warning with the tender brutality of a demon, his beautiful face a mask of concern that was a blatant lie. She despised him then, in that moment. Everything Dorian had said about him was true. And then Julien was rising from the bed, still shaking his head. “You do not learn.” He turned from the bed to walk to the door. Emma, finally released from the hold of his powerful gaze, curled onto her side, facing away from him. Her slender form was trembling

- 162 -

The Third Kiss uncontrollably. She felt weak, on fire, cold as ice, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, even a bit queasy. She hugged herself hard. She hated Julien Adalard with a passion. “Very well, Emma. Then, this is how it is to be.” She listened to him but would not roll over and look at him. She could feel his gaze sliding over her body as if she was a prized piece of meat, and the nausea within her grew stronger. “I will come to you twice more in the following nights. If I must force your compliance each time, then I will do so without hesitation. In the meantime, you will remain in your quarters.” Emma couldn’t help but think of what it would feel like to be locked in one suite of rooms for three whole days, and her shivering body shook with an audible sob. “If you wish for the privilege of leaving these rooms, Emma, you must earn it,” he told her, clearly in response to her distress. “As with everything, there is a price to pay.” He continued to speak to her, as if she was a child, and she hated his voice. It slid over her abused body like cold silk, teasing her further, licking at her exposed flesh like frozen flames. She shook until her teeth rattled and she was sure she would never be still again. Her neck throbbed. Her thigh and stomach ached where his claws had pierced her flesh. Her entire body felt as if it had been burned. “Bonne nuit, my queen.” **** Dorian paced, restlessly, in his room. At this very moment, Julien was with Emma, probably touching her, maybe kissing her. Dorian growled and spun around, shoving his fist through the plaster wall. He pulled it out again and continued to pace, the outburst having done nothing for his mood. It was too quiet. - 163 -

Heather Killough-Walden Was she okay? He was going to go mad, he was sure of it. And then, like a gunshot disturbing the silence of the night, he heard her scream. It was a piercing cry of pain, loud and long. Dorian whirled around and his form blurred into motion. He was out the door and sprinting across an intersection in the hall when four large blurred vampires slammed into him from all sides, knocking the wind from his lungs, bringing his momentum to a dead, dizzying halt. He dropped to the ground and gulped for air. Emma’s scream died down. Dorian got to his feet again, his gaze sliding from one vampire guard to another. They surrounded him, waiting calmly for him to make the next move. They had clearly been sent to keep him from interfering. They were the largest of Julien’s contingent of guards, but he was ready, right now, to give them a run for their money. “Dorian, it is too late, mon ami. He has already given her the first kiss.” Dorian whirled around and stared at the stocky, bald vampire that approached. His expression mirrored the regret that swept through Dorian at hearing such words. Julien had marked his Emma. He’d taken the first step at bringing her over. There were two kisses left. “No.” He couldn’t help but say it. It slipped out. Tristan turned to regard the four guards who surrounded the prince. “The king has ordered that you leave the prince be, once the deed is done. It has been done, so return to your posts.” The guards glanced at one another, a little uncertain. And then, realizing that the scream they’d heard was probably none other than the first kiss, and Tristan was most likely right, they left Dorian standing alone in the intersecting hallway and returned to wherever they’d come from.

- 164 -

The Third Kiss “Dorian, come with me.” Tristan gestured back toward Dorian’s quarters. His tone was gentle, imploring. Dorian stared at him a moment, but nothing in Tristan’s gaze gave Dorian any reason to believe ill of him. He glanced once at the stairwell that led to the third level of the mansion, and to Emma’s rooms. He swallowed. He was sweating with the need to go to her, to tear her away from his brother’s arms. “Dorian,” Tristan called softly. Dorian ran a hand through his hair and realized his hand was trembling. He closed his eyes, forcing his body to be still. And then he turned around and walked slowly back down the hall. When he and Tristan were both in his quarters, Tristan closed and locked the door. Then he turned to his friend and took a deep breath. When he spoke, it was in hushed tones. “Dorian,” he began, pinning the prince with a steady gaze. “Did you dream of her as well?” Dorian blinked. Did he dream of Emma? Is that what Tristan was asking? Of course it was. Who else would he be talking about? But, then, how did he know? “Yes,” he answered, tentatively. “Why?” “Because, my prince. You carry your father’s blood. The blood of a king.” Dorian’s brows drew together. “What are you saying, Tristan? Just have out with it.” “I’m saying that both you and your brother dreamt of the future queen. But only one of you is supposed to claim her. What if it isn’t Julien?” Dorian stared at his friend. He didn’t move. Time seemed to slow, and all sound, all motion came to a grinding halt. In his mind, a movie played. It was a movie about a woman with long golden hair and an easy, perfect smile. She was laughing and then placing her hand on her stomach. It was swollen with child. Emma Rose. - 165 -

Heather Killough-Walden Slowly, deliberately, Dorian turned away from the other vampire and began to pace across the room. When he reached the other side, he turned around and paced back. Then he did it again. And again. All the while, the same movie played in his head. Finally, he came to stand before Tristan, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “He’s marked her, Tristan.” “I know, mon ami. But it is not the first two kisses that count. It is the third that brings a mortal over to our side. If you believe she was meant for you, then you must be the one to give her the third kiss.” Dorian’s mind was a jumbled mess. Aside from the dream, which kept replaying in his head, he was remembering her touch, her kiss, the way her body felt beneath his. He was remembering her laughter, her kindness, even her ridiculous allergies. He was filled with her, her essence and spirit and everything about her which made her Emma. The thought of her as Julien’s bride, as his slave, was so wrong and so unnatural that it made him ill. It was not meant to be. No. Emma was his. Dorian’s. He knew it now, felt more sure of it than he had about anything in his very long life. He loved her. After only two days, he loved her. She was his queen. “I must tell you something now, Dorian.” Tristan moved past him and sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs before the coffee table in Dorian’s main room. He gestured for Dorian to follow and sit in the chair across from him. Dorian stood glued to the spot for several more seconds, and then, as if in a dream, he moved to the large chair and lowered himself into it. - 166 -

The Third Kiss “I have faithfully served Julien Adalard for his entire reign. But, Dorian, I have never been his loyal servant.” He waited a moment, for this information to sink in, and then continued. “There are more than a score of us. We have been waiting for the right moment to seize control of his rule and wrest it from his grasp. Julien does not deserve to be king. He and his mother killed the king, and then he killed the queen. He began his regime with murder and a lie, and it has been tainted by his evil ever since.” Dorian stared, numbly, at the man who had been his friend for too many years to count. He never would have guessed that Tristan felt this way. He had always served Julien dependably, following the king’s orders to the letter. “But if we depose the king, another will need to take his place.” Tristan leaned forward then, and his green eyes glowed unnaturally as he pinned Dorian to his chair with his heavy gaze. “We believe you are this king, Dorian. You are the son of Jacques Guerrier Adalard, and as a halfvampire, you are far more powerful than he ever was.” Tristan leaned back in his chair again and took a deep, calming breath. “The only power your brother has that you do not is the power of the magie noire. His mother was a warlock, and by the time he slaughtered her with the very magic she had taught him, he had become a warlock as well.” He paused again, knowing that Dorian was already aware of this fact, but wanting to be thorough in his explanation. He continued. “But he is not invincible, Dorian. And Miss Nekoda is too precious to let go.” For a very, very long time, Dorian did not say anything. He sat still in his chair, his gaze drifting from Tristan’s to the windows, where he looked out at the nothingness of the night beyond. And then, in a voice of deadly, quiet resolve, he asked, “What do you need me to do?” **** - 167 -

Heather Killough-Walden The Roma gypsy prince of the Boyash of Romania was used to having to wait outside of his mother’s hut. Once Dotia gave the orders that she wasn’t to be disturbed, no one, not even her son, was to come through the wooden door until she was finished with whatever it was she was doing that required such solitude and peace. Normally, what it was that she was doing was magic. This case was no exception. Rendor crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his gaze at the closed white painted door. As he’d done a thousand times, he willed his mother to show herself. He wouldn’t dare disturb her outright, but he would be damned if he would be made to wait when the issue he had to discuss with her was this important. After a few moments, the door creaked open and a handsome but positively ancient woman dressed in a white blouse and a full, vibrant skirt stepped out into the forest clearing. “What do you want, son?” “I heard that you are helping them, dya,” he said softly. He uncrossed his arms and took a step toward her. “Why?” “Because I am the queen and I can do whatever I damned well please, that’s why.” Rendor’s gaze darkened. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Dotia rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well. Because, Rendor, not all vampires are created equal.” “If I may say so, you’re wrong. They were evil five hundred years ago, and they are evil now. Nothing has changed.” “Much has changed, son. Open your eyes. And your mind.” Dotia moved with fluid grace for one of her age, brushing past her son to approach a little girl who was picking large white mushrooms and placing them into a basket a few yards away. “Paliki, pick them from the bottom, dear. You’re bruising the tops.”

- 168 -

The Third Kiss The little girl wore a colorful scarf over her long dark brown hair. Her chocolate eyes were enormous in her young, attractive face. “Yes, bulibasha.” Dotia turned back to her son then and pinned him with a no-nonsense gaze. “I know what you are about to say, and I’ll not hear it from you. You are prince of your people, Rendor. You will one day be kralis. Act like one.” Rendor bit his tongue as he was about to retort with something a little too uncivilized for young Paliki’s ears, and besides, it was disrespectful and his mother was, after all, the queen. However, he took a slow calming breath and let it out with a tired sigh. “What have they ever done for us? How are they any different from the men who kept the Roma Natsia enslaved up until a mere century ago? They take what they want, when they want it. Their money buys loyalty and corruption. They sink their infested teeth into our young, our women and our children, and cart them off as slaves of the worst kind. And now you’re helping them?” Now it was Dotia’s turn to sigh. “Rendor, why did you banish Lazar two days ago?” “What?” “You heard me. Answer the question.” Rendor eyed her cautiously but eventually answered. “Because Lazar doesn’t follow our laws, and his immoral conduct brings unkind favor upon our people.” Dotia nodded, and then asked another question. “And why did you sleep with that lovely Rakli last week?” Rendor’s eyebrow shot up. “Can you not answer the question, Rendor? Or is your bengalo promiscuity not something you’re necessarily proud of?” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes held reprimand in their dark depths. She had long felt that her son was too handsome for his own good, and too damned appreciative for everyone else’s. He was always thinking with his karbaro. - 169 -

Heather Killough-Walden Rendor’s gaze narrowed. “I enjoyed her company because she was kind, intelligent, and attractive. What of it?” Dotia smiled now, displaying several missing teeth. “I see. So, in the course of seven days, you managed to welcome an outsider into your fold of trust and turn away a brother at the same time. Think on this, Rendor.” She came near to him, her expression now completely serious. “Not all Roma are created equal. You are wise and Lazar is not. By the same measure, some gadjikani look down on us. But if the smile on her face as she left your hut was any indication, then I dare say that your rakli girl does not.” She paused, allowing the information to sink in. It didn’t take long. Rendor was far from stupid. He gazed steadily at his mother and said nothing. “The same goes for vampires, chiavala.” She said this last bit very softly, and then brushed past him once again and re-entered her hut. Rendor stared at the ground in silence for several moments. And then he took another deep breath and turned on his heel. He followed her into the small white painted building. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim interior. He spotted the medallion on his mother’s table at once. Again, his gaze narrowed. “Which one of them would ask for such an item?” he wondered aloud. The medallion was several centuries old and possessed a very specific power. It was known as a draba among his people. A charmed object of protection. Dotia did not answer him right away. She merely stepped back from the table and allowed him to come forward. Rendor paused before the table’s edge and gazed down at the elaborate necklace. Its chain consisted of solid silver, woven intricately around beads of crystal and semiprecious stones. The center of the pendant was carved from a single large piece of lapis lazuli. The symbol was archaic and complex. As a work of art, it was beautiful. As a relic of the past, it was valuable. But what truly inspired about this particular piece of jewelry was its ability to ward off evil. - 170 -

The Third Kiss No being of evil could touch it. Literally. Rendor raised his hand toward the amulet. He hadn’t held the necklace since he’d been a boy. Now, his hand trembled slightly as he lowered his fingers over the blue surface of the pendant. He paused, momentarily, a millimeter away, and then, as if daring the inanimate object to come to life and bite him, he quickly scooped the pendant up, and held it fast in his grip. Dotia laughed. “And there is proof right there, Rendor, that even you are aware that some of your own thoughts are darker than they should be.” Rendor turned an icy glare her way. She only smiled. “Alas, it appears your heart is still relatively pure. And as to your initial question, it was Voronoi who asked for it.” Rendor’s eyes widened. A black brow arched in surprise. “The Russian? He is the oldest of the martiya.” He shook his head in wonder. “What could he want with such a thing?” “That is what I was attempting to discover when you so rudely interrupted me. You think very loudly at me, young man. You should watch your tone of thought.” Dotia moved to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “Now, if you don’t mind…” Rendor replaced the amulet on the table top and stepped back. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he turned and left the hut, gently closing the door behind him. In the quiet hut, Queen Dotia of the Roma gypsies once again began to cast a spell.

- 171 -

Heather Killough-Walden

Chapter Nine Patrick Nekoda ran a hand through his blonde hair. He was uneasy. Something about the day wasn’t sitting comfortably on his shoulders. The air felt, maybe, a bit too thick. Maybe it was the nectarine he’d had with breakfast. It had tasted a bit off. He sighed and pulled another one of Emma’s prints from the wall and handed it down to the young man who was helping with packaging for the day. The gallery had a lot of temporary help on this particular morning, as was always the case after a showing, so that they could get the purchased items packaged and delivered within the promised time frame. Patrick was climbing back down the ladder when Sam came out of the back room. “That’s ten down, seven to go. I can’t believe she managed to sell every single print. That’s unheard of.” Patrick’s brows drew together. Come to think it of, it really was unheard of. Of course, about a half of a dozen of them had been purchased by some anonymous buyer, who’d called in an amount and just told them to use it toward whatever was left. Only five prints had remained unclaimed by the end of the day, so Sam had deducted their price from the amount the buyer had quoted. There had been a considerable amount of money left over. Someone really liked her work. Either that or they really liked Emma. Patrick stilled. And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? He felt there was something wrong where Emma was concerned. That she was in some kind of danger. Was she being stalked by someone? If she was, the person was very wealthy. It had obviously been affecting him, at least on a subconscious level, all day. Because he’d already tried her cell phone number four times. It went directly to voice mail each time. She was

- 172 -

The Third Kiss either in transit by car and chose to leave it off; or she was shooting something she didn’t want to spook and, again, chose to leave it off; or… He just didn’t want to think about the or. There was a knock on the glass. Patrick turned to find a young woman with black hair and hazel eyes waving at him through the gallery’s front windows. He quickly moved to the door, unlocked it, and opened it. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today,” he told her in as polite a voice as he could manage. They were very busy, and he had a lot on his mind. “I know. I’m sorry to intrude. I actually didn’t come about the art,” she said quickly, holding her hands before her in a very proper manner. She looked to be no older than twenty, and was wearing khaki pants, combat boots, a black tank-top with some sort of wispy long-sleeved multicolored blouse draped over it, and her long black hair was pulled into two thick braids that hung over her shoulders. Her face was attractive, if a bit youthful, and her skin was flawless, although she’d applied makeup more suitable for night time than early morning. She carried a canvas bag over one shoulder. The bag sported several iron-on transfers. One badge was shaped in a military fashion and bore the label “MCR”. Another one said “HIM” in huge, thin letters and was topped with a symbol that looked like a pentagram and a heart put together. Two other patches were of the Hello Kitty logo, and the last was of a young girl with pale skin and black bangs named “Emily” who looked a lot like the girl that now stood before him. “What is it you want, then?” he asked softly. Usually, it was Emma who had the feelings about things in their little family. But today, his own peril meter was rising, and it had just moved up a notch.

- 173 -

Heather Killough-Walden She came forward a step and then looked over her shoulder. Patrick followed her gaze. A group of students came out of the Starbucks down the street and set their purchases on the patio table. A kid on the street corner was standing on one leg and not moving; a hat at his feet collected donations. Tourists bustled up and down the street, pointing in windows, and lugging their purchases in both hands. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked back at her, and she turned back around and looked up at him. “It’s about your sister.” Patrick didn’t know what took over him at that moment. If you were to ask him later, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you why he then lunged forward and grabbed the girl by the upper arm and dragged her into the gallery, shutting and locking the door behind them. “What’s wrong? Where is she?” he asked immediately. The girl blinked up at him for a moment, and then seemed to compose herself. “You must be able to sense things too. I could tell your sister had that ability. I saw her yesterday. She came to my booth to get her palm read.” Patrick listened intently. Emma must have gone to Jackson Square yesterday afternoon. And the fact that this girl was a palm reader explained the makeup. “She was with this guy…” “What guy?” he asked immediately. “He was tall and had shoulder-length blonde hair.” “Dorian.” She stared at him. “Dorian? Yeah, that sounds about right. The thing is she didn’t know what he was. I could tell she didn’t know. And I’m not sure he had her best interests in mind – ” “What do you mean, she didn’t know what he was?” Did she mean that Emma hadn’t known that Dorian Bergeron worked for Julien Adalard? That he was Adalard Enterprise’s PR guy? In - 174 -

The Third Kiss the pit of his stomach, like a yawning maw of truth, a dark knowledge opened up inside of Patrick, and he knew that wasn’t what she meant at all. “I mean,” the girl said, her voice lowering, her gaze intensifying. “She didn’t know he was a vampire.” **** Dorian stepped into the room and heard the guards shut and bolt the door behind him. Emma didn’t look up. She was sitting in the window seat, her gaze peering out over the gardens and the city of Baton Rouge, beyond the boundaries of Julien’s land. Dorian moved away from the door and made his way toward her. She turned to look at him. He saw the marks on her neck. They were bruised and swollen, and Dorian could tell right away that Julien had made them to hurt. He had punished her with the first kiss. Dorian’s gaze slid away from the mark to the bruises that were forming on her chin, around her throat in the shape of a hand, and around her wrists in the same manner. She wore a t-shirt and fleece sweat pants. He wondered what marks on her flesh the clothing hid. If the gentle nature of the material she’d chosen was any indication, she possessed several more wounds on her small body. “Thank you, Dorian, for bringing me here,” she said softly. He looked back up at her eyes. They were a bit sunken, slightly puffy and red, as if she hadn’t slept, but had cried for what had remained of last night. Her pallor was very pale. Julien had taken quite a lot of blood. Her lips were dry, her cheeks appeared hollow, and the golden luster of her hair seemed somewhat muted.

- 175 -

Heather Killough-Walden At that moment, Dorian felt a kind of ache in his heart that he had never before endured. He hated his brother for what he had done to her. But he hated himself more for allowing it to happen. He swallowed, but a lump had formed in his throat, and he couldn’t seem to get past it. “The view is quite lovely. And seeing as how I’m stuck in here for the next three days, I suppose it’s lucky I’m on the third floor,” she continued, softly. Her voice ripped at his insides. There was such loss in her tone, such hopelessness in the way she tossed her predicament at him as if it were just another inescapable burden, that it nearly tore a cry of despair from his throat. This was not his Emma. Not the one who refused to wear leather and gave her photographs away for half of their worth. Had Julien broken her? No. She was stronger than that. He knew she was. “Emma, I –” “Save it, Dorian. You were right, okay? Julien is a son of a bitch and you’re just his little puppet and I have no choice but to wait here for him to come and torture me again tonight and turn me into his little baby-making slave.” She rose from the window seat and took a step toward him. “What do you want, anyway? Did you come to add to my misery, to make me think of you again tonight just to piss him off some more?” Her voice was rising, and though he hated what she was saying to him, though her words stabbed at his chest and caused as much physical pain as they would have if she were hurling them at him strapped to knives, he was at least relieved to hear the fighter in her rising to the surface.

- 176 -

The Third Kiss “That’s why he ‘punished’ me, you know. He said it was because I couldn’t get you out of my mind. It was because of you, Dorian. You!” She rushed at him then, and pulled back her fist to punch him. She’d either taken some form of martial art in her past, or she instinctively knew how to throw a punch, because she didn’t go wide, but simply drew her arm back to her side, and shoved it forward with all of her might, aiming directly for his chin. He let her hit him. It was a mistake. One second, he was staring down at her, regret gnawing at his insides, warring with the need to hold her and comfort her, and the next second, he was reeling backwards, trying to catch his balance, and stars were swimming in his vision. He threw an arm back against the door to keep from falling, and gingerly touched his chin and jaw with his other hand. “What the hell –” “Oh, god, you have a hard head! Oh, son of a bitch!” Dorian looked down to find that Emma was bent over, shaking her hand, and then rubbing it, alternately. A plethora of swear words were being emitted from her mouth. Her eyes were shut tight. “I think you broke my knuckle!” Dorian blinked. He straightened and came forward. “I broke your knuckle?” He said, dubiously, as he reached her and then made a grab for her hand. She yanked it away and continued to shake it as if she could wring the pain off of it. “Give me your hand,” he commanded, but she just cut him a glaring look and turned her back on him. “Emma, let me see your goddamned hand!” He moved fast then, blurring beside her, and in the next instant, he had her wrist in his grip.

- 177 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Ow!” she cried, allowing her arm to go limp. He instantly released her wrist, having forgotten about the bruises Julien had put there. Frustration was riding him hard when he took a deep breath and stood straight. “Emma, please let me help you.” Emma looked up at him. There were fresh tears in her eyes. She came out of her bent position. “Dorian,” she said, standing utterly still before him, as if all of the pain in her hand and wrist was suddenly forgotten. She whispered the last part, “I’m really scared.” Her eyes were huge in her face, all luminosity and terror. Her cheeks were wet with tears. He stared down at her, for the life of him, not knowing what to say. And then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, tucking her face against his chest. Dorian was momentarily stunned into immobility. He could feel her tremble against him; feel the wetness of her tears soaking through his shirt. She hiccupped, and at once, he found himself hugging her back, his arms holding her tightly against him as she cried. Vaguely, he was aware of the cameras watching them from every angle. He couldn’t offer Emma any words of real comfort; not with those cameras there. He couldn’t tell her about Tristan or their plan. But he could hold her. In fact, Julien would most likely expect him to do that much. So, he did. He held her tightly, gently brushing the hair from her face, tenderly rubbing her back in small circles until her sobs quieted and she slowly pulled away. He released her and looked down. Her face was a wet, red, puffy mess. He walked to a cupboard built into one wall and pulled down a box of tissue. He ripped the top off and handed the box to her. “You’re going through a rainforest, sweetheart,” he said softly. She laughed. It was a wonderful sound, despite the fact that it was coming from a throat that was physically raw with spent emotion. - 178 -

The Third Kiss She took the box and pulled out several sheets, then turned her back on him and noisily blew her nose. He smiled. That was his Emma. When she was done, she walked to the small wastebasket in one corner and threw the tissues away. Above her, a camera whirred quietly, angling until it pointed straight down at her. She looked up at it, narrowed her gaze, and gave it the finger. Dorian bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to smile. “Emma, you should eat something,” he said. “Do you think you can manage breakfast?” She turned to look at him. “I don’t know. My throat hurts when I swallow.” He chewed on his lip for a moment and then strode across the room to stand before her. “You’re going to have to at least drink water. And to drink water, you’ll have to swallow it.” She waited. “Will you take my blood?” “I knew you were going to ask me that,” she said. “I honestly don’t think I can stomach it, Dorian.” He smiled down at her. “It may not taste as bad as you think it will. Vampire blood is not human blood, after all.” “Don’t you have some Ibuprophen or Tylenol or something?” He sighed. “I’ll see what I can find.” He hadn’t expected her to accept his offer. He turned and made his way back to the door. “I’ll be right back.” He rapped on the door, and it unlocked and opened. Two human guards let him pass, and he made his way into the hall and down the staircase. First, he went to his own rooms, and pulled the prescription bottle of Vicodin out of his bathroom cabinet. He’d had it for some time, as you never know what kinds of things you might need in his line of work. If anything could kill Emma’s pain enough to get her to eat, it was this. - 179 -

Heather Killough-Walden When he thought about it, he realized that it was probably best that Emma hadn’t taken his blood, anyway. It would have healed all of her wounds, including Julien’s mark. And that would have made Julien angry. He would have taken that anger out on Emma. Tonight would have been even harder for her than last night had been. He left his quarters and made his way to the kitchens. Every vampire in the house was asleep right now, save for him. The humans that worked the estate grounds during the day simply figured that the boss was always out on business, from dawn to dusk. They took orders from other, human higher-ups, and went about their work as any household staff would do, none of them having the slightest clue that many feet below them, in the darkness of a vast cavern, vampires were resting and waiting for the sun to go down. They were all there, all of the vampires under Julien’s command, all but Dorian – and Julien, himself. There was only one vampire in existence who knew where Julien slept on the nights when he wasn’t in his magically warded room, guarded by at least half a dozen hefty humans. And it wasn’t Dorian. It was Tristan. When Tristan had told him who he was, what he’d been doing, and that he was planning to overthrow the French king, Dorian had asked him where his brother slept. He’d wanted to kill him, to take his brother’s head, himself, before the man could mark Emma again. But Tristan had refused to tell him. “If you kill him, Dorian, you will begin your reign as king in the same manner as he. Through bloodshed and murder.” “That’s the way it’s done,” Dorian had argued. “For as long as there have been kings, they’ve been killing one another, Tristan.” “Non, my prince. I will not let you begin this way. And besides,” he’d continued. “We are not ready. I was depending on something from some contacts of mine, but they have disappeared. - 180 -

The Third Kiss Gone missing. I suspect that Julien may have discovered the truth about them and had them dealt with. I only hope that they did not talk before they died.” Dorian considered Tristan’s words as he walked across the dining room and through the double doors that led to the kitchen. He wondered who Tristan’s contacts were, and what they had been doing. Tristan would tell him no more than he did, claiming that the less Dorian knew, the less he could reveal under torture. Dorian had seen his brother torture people for information before. He was more than happy to let Tristan keep his knowledge to himself. But he couldn’t help asking the man why he hadn’t killed Julien sooner. He’d served the king for more than two hundred years. What had taken him this long to act? Tristan had smiled a wry smile and sighed deeply. “It takes a long time to plan a revolution, mon ami. Julien has many staunch supporters. His power is great and spans a wide berth. And he is very smart. The fact that he trusts me implicitly is nothing short of a miracle. Even so, it was only recently that he told me of his resting place. It took nearly two centuries to gain that confidence.” Now Dorian entered the kitchen, and the cook glanced up. “It’s all ready, sweetheart. Right there on the counter behind you.” Dorian glanced at the tray that the cook had prepared for Emma. It was spilling over with croissants, butter, fresh fruit, bagels, cream cheese, and a plate of what looked like burned, fatless bacon. “The bacon’s soy, hon’. I got it special for Miss Emma.” Dorian smiled at her and shook his head. “You’re a keeper, ‘Beth. You always think of everything.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and knew she most likely blushed, but her dark skin did a good job of hiding it. He glanced back at the tray. Elizabeth probably - 181 -

Heather Killough-Walden hadn’t realized that “vegan” was not the same as “vegetarian”. The butter and cream cheese weren’t Emma’s regular fare, and probably not the croissant either. But he didn’t think it mattered at the moment. He wasn’t sure Emma would eat anything at all, and if she did, he had a feeling she would go for the fruit first. “Oh, I forgot. The orange juice is in the other fridge. Over there, hon’.” She pointed to a second refrigerator, smaller than the first, and then returned to punching and kneading the dough laid out on the wooden chopping block counter. Dorian took the carton out of the fridge and poured some into a glass. “You moved all of the small stuff over. What’s taking up so much space in the big one?” “Food for the wedding party. Mister Adalard is preparing quite the celebration. What’s in there’s only part of it. I guess he’s planning on invitin’ the whole bayou.” She shook her head and made a disgruntled sound, but her smooth black skin never frowned. “He’d better, anyway. I’m not seein’ none of that food wasted, is all I gotta say.” “The wedding party…” Dorian repeated, thinking out loud. Julien had already planned the wedding? Of course he had. He was always one step ahead. He would invite the presses, the VIP’s from his companies, anyone he felt needed to see him with Emma, including, no doubt, the kings of the other vampire factions. He would flaunt her before their eyes; wave her under their noses, for no other reason than to make a point. He had power they did not have. Always one step ahead. Dorian rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept in too many hours. Fatigue was making him heavy and slow. “You okay?” Elizabeth asked, watching him from where she worked the dough. “You’re looking even more pale than usual.”

- 182 -

The Third Kiss Dorian nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. Thanks for the breakfast, ‘Beth.” “Not a problem. Tell Miss Emma I hope she feels better soon. Just bring the tray back down when she’s finished.” He nodded and left the kitchen. **** “A what?” The girl took a deep breath, and, with another nervous glance out the gallery windows, she took Patrick by the elbow and led him to the back of the store. “I said he’s a vampire. He’s clearly some special kind of vampire, or he wouldn’t have been out during the day. But he’s definitely a vampire. And your sister didn’t know.” Patrick blinked down at the girl. “What’s your name?” “Rachele. And I know you’re about to ask me how I know this stuff.” She sighed, as if she’d been down this road before, and then began to speak very quickly. “Your sister’s name is Emma Rose Nekoda. You are Patrick Nekoda. She lives in Lubbock, Texas, but came here for the photography showing, which went really well. I’ll even bet every one of her pictures sold.” Patrick’s eyes widened. Was this Emma’s stalker? It didn’t make any sense. “No, I didn’t buy the prints, Patrick. Someone else did; someone who poses a threat to her. That’s why I’m here. I see these visions, get these feelings. It runs in the family, and I don’t have any choice but to follow where this knowledge leads me. This morning, it led me here.” Patrick’s legs felt numb. With the stiffness of a robot, he turned from her and walked to a nearby stool. He sat down. He stared at nothing, somewhere in the vicinity of the floor.

- 183 -

Heather Killough-Walden “You have to listen to me. I think Emma is in trouble. I think this Dorian guy has something to do with it. I didn’t sense he was evil, but maybe the danger is indirectly associated with him. I don’t know, I just know that –” She stopped talking and studied him more closely. “Are you listening to me?” she asked softly, coming to stand before him. When he didn’t move, she waved her hand before his face. He looked up at her. “I think you’re right,” he finally said. His voice sounded as if it was coming from far away, even to his own ears. “I’ve been feeling it all morning…” His voice drifted off, and he was once again staring at the floor. Rachele blew out a frustrated puff of air and took him by the shoulders. She leaned in close and stared directly into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Patrick, but we don’t have time for you to mentally adjust to the parts of this situation that don’t fit into your pre-conceived notions right now. Right now, we need to find Emma.” Patrick looked into those hazel eyes and then nodded. “Okay.” He stood, suddenly, and she stepped hurriedly back. He turned away from her and ran directly into Sam’s large form. They looked up at him. His face had gone unnaturally pale. He opened his mouth to speak and no sound came out. He closed it, swallowed, and tried again. “I heard everything,” he said. Patrick looked up at him. He’d never seen Sam look like this before. “Sam, what number did you use to contact the anonymous buyer last night?” Patrick asked him. Sam shook his head, momentarily befuddled. And then he ran a hand through his curly hair and closed his eyes. “It was an eight-hundred number. The person I spoke with was a woman.” “I can find whose number it is online,” Rachele said, pulling the bag off of her shoulder. “Have you got a wireless connection?” Patrick nodded.. “And another laptop upstairs.” - 184 -

The Third Kiss **** Emma gazed out the windows. The window seat was plush and cushiony and the throw she’d pulled around herself was of the softest material. She loved throws, just as her mother had. They never failed to warm her when she was cold. The gauzy curtains that she’d pulled to the side blew gently in the breeze. The windows had no bars on them, and were not locked, so she’d pushed one open to let the air in. Emma guessed Julien was confident that she wouldn’t try to escape down the sheer fiftyfoot drop that waited outside her window sill. And he was right. Then again, Dorian can fly… But it was a short-lived hope, since she knew that Julien would then just kill her brother. And, knowing what she now knew of the man, first hand, she didn’t want him any where near Patrick, ever. There was a knock on her door, and then the lock turned. Dorian came in with a tray of food and drinks. The smell that wafted to her nostrils, even from across the room, was delicious. “Okay, try one of these first. Wait about twenty minutes and see if you can eat something.” He put the tray down and handed her the bottle of Vicodin. She took it and read the label. “Whoa. You got out the heavy artillery.” She looked back up at him. “I just asked for some Ibuprophen.” “I know, but this will work faster and it’ll take the edge off, too.” She took a deep breath and then shrugged. If she was going to sit here all day and anticipate being raped at night fall, she may as well get high while she was waiting. She tipped the bottle until one oblong caplet poured into her hand. To her, it seemed huge. She popped it into her mouth, unsure whether she’d even be able to get it down.

- 185 -

Heather Killough-Walden It was slightly sour on her tongue, but Dorian handed her a glass of water, and she managed to swallow. The feat was painful enough that it made her eyes water again. She placed the glass back on the tray. Dorian scooted the tray over and sat down beside her. “What were you thinking about when I came in?” he asked. She’d been staring out at the gardens, but her gaze had been unseeing, more distant. “Escape,” she admitted with a wry smile. Then the smile softened, and she turned to look out the window again. “And my mother.” He’d thought so. “What was her name?” He knew her name already, had read it from Emma’s mind in the gallery the night before. But he also knew that talking about the woman would do Emma some good. “Leigh Abigail Nekoda. My father’s name was William Fabio. When they married, he immediately, and very untraditionally, took her name.” She smiled and gave a short laugh. “I think it had something to do with that male model, Fabio. Plus, he always said that ‘William Nekoda’ just sounded better. He said it ‘flowed’.” She turned her smile on him and gave a little shake of her head. “Do you know that I’ve never once looked up what the name ‘Nekoda’ even means?” She shrugged, gazing out the window again. “I’ve always meant to. One little online search would do it…” “Marked,” he said softly and reached out to tuck a lock behind her ear. Julien’s bite mark stood out starkly against her fair skin, as did the bruises left by his hands. “What?” she asked, her eyes on him once more. “Nekoda. It means ‘marked’,” he said as he peered deeply into her almond orbs. “It’s Hebrew.” He glanced at the mark on her neck. “And prophetic,” he added. - 186 -

The Third Kiss Gingerly, she raised her hand and touched her fingers to the side of her neck. She flinched when they made contact. “Don’t touch,” he told her, gently moving her hand away. “Just wait for the pain killer to kick in and try to get some food in you.” She didn’t nod, and she didn’t say anything, but she put her hand down and stared out the window once more. He asked her a few more questions about herself, trying to keep her mind straying from the mess she was in and what would happen when the sun went down. Within a few minutes, she began to talk more freely, her smile came more easily, and when she turned her head, she didn’t wince from the pain in her neck. And he knew that the Vicodin had begun to do its job. “Here, try some fruit.” “Actually, the croissant looks really good,” she said. He glanced up at her. He was certain the pastry had been made with butter. Maybe egg, too. “I know,” she told him, as if she had been reading his mind. “It’s just that in two days, I won’t be able to eat anything but blood. I’ll be a vegan in the purest sense, as long as you don’t count humans as animals, which they are, by the way, but I don’t care half as much about their welfare as I do the others.” She paused to pick up the pastry and tore it in half. “So, before that time comes, I want to taste a croissant. I haven’t had one in something like ten years. And I intend to try the bagel with the cream cheese as well, so don’t touch it.” Dorian blinked. Then his lips curled into a smile. She shoved one end of the croissant in her mouth with gusto and, as she chewed, she rolled her eyes and then closed them. “Divine…” she said softly. “It’s fresh, I can tell. Where did you get it?”

- 187 -

Heather Killough-Walden He was amazed at her ability to speak coherently with a mouth full of food. “Our cook, Elizabeth, made it. She’s a culinary genius. Or, so I’ve heard the humans say. I’ve never actually tasted anything of hers, myself.” “Well, trust me, they’re right. She could sell these things.” She didn’t even wait to finish chewing and swallowing before she was stuffing the other half of the croissant into her mouth, and washing it down with orange juice. He watched her eat. She went through the fruit in record time and was nearly finished with the bagel and the cream cheese when she slowed down her chewing, distracted by something she saw outside. He turned to follow her gaze. She was watching a young man who had taken off his shirt and was resting in the shade of a large oak tree in the center of one of the maze gardens. Even from this distance, Dorian could tell the man was built. He was black, and his dark skin highlighted each muscle, as did the sweat covering his body. Dorian recognized him. He was one of the gardeners. He thought his name was Alain, and the man was clearly taking a break. Jealousy, strong and sudden, flared to life within Dorian. He looked from Alain to Emma and back again. She was fascinated by him. His eyes narrowed. “If you don’t stop staring at him soon, I’m going to have to kill him,” he said, only half-joking. She blinked and turned to face him. “What?” “Alain. The gardener. I know he’s handsome, but must you drool that way?” he asked, his tone a bit terse, his jaw tense. Her brow furrowed. And then she threw back her head and laughed out loud. She held the back of her hand over her mouth to keep from spraying her food, and then giggled quietly until she’d managed to swallow her mouth-full. - 188 -

The Third Kiss “Dorian,” she said at last, reaching for the orange juice again. “I’ll admit that he’s good looking, yes. But I honestly was just thinking that I was jealous of him.” She shook her head, her eyes twinkling. “He’s out there, in the sun, free.” She continued to shake her head, turning to gaze at the gardener again. Her voice was softer as she went on. “I’ll never be like that again. The last two days I have left to bask in the sunshine, and I’m stuck indoors. In these rooms.” She turned and gestured to her luxurious prison. “Not that they aren’t really nice rooms, mind you. Your king really went all out.” She put the remainder of her bagel back down on the tray and wiped her hands on the napkin. Her movements had become less animated, more automatic. Her smile was slowly disappearing. “I took it for granted. My mother always told me never to take the little things for granted. The sun is a great big thing. And I still took it for granted.” She looked up at him and pinned him with a gaze of such longing and sadness that his heart skipped a beat and his stomach did a flip-flop. “I want to feel it on my skin again. Just one more time. I would give almost anything to do so.” Trepidation instantly stabbed through him. She shouldn’t have said that. Fear for her clenched at his gut. Now it was on tape, and Julien was sure to use those eight words against her in some Machiavellian, sadistic manner. He hated – hated – the idea of Julien touching her again. He wished he could take her out of this room. He would walk her to the mansion’s garage, let her pick a bike, and take her for a ride. If it were solely up to him, he would keep driving, heading west so that they chased the sun for as long as they could before it went down. But it wasn’t up to him. Very big things were about to happen and he played one of the main parts in their unfolding. His responsibility to his people, and ultimately to Emma, was what kept him from lifting her up in his arms right now and carrying her out of that mansion. - 189 -

Heather Killough-Walden The fit was about to hit the shan, in a big way. “Emma, I’m so sorry.” She watched him in silence for a moment and then smiled. “I bet you are.” Without thinking then, without regard for the cameras that watched them, recording their every move, Dorian brought his hand to the side of her face, gently cupping her cheek. And then he leaned in. She did not retreat. Instead, she immediately buried her fingers in the long blonde locks of his silky hair and pulled his head in further. She raised herself up and their lips met. The kiss went instantly deep. He wasted no time parting her lips with his tongue and exploring inside. His teeth grew, of their own accord, as he groaned and brought his other hand to rest on her other cheek, effectively holding her in place. She moaned against his lips, and his body absorbed the sound. Despite all she’d been through, a familiar heat began to pool in her belly. Dorian’s fingers threaded through her hair, grasping handfuls of the golden silk against her scalp, pulling gently. After several moments, he pulled away, allowing them to come up for air. She panted against his lips. His eyes had begun to glow. She saw his fangs and didn’t care. It was Dorian. Her Dorian. Her biker hunk of a man whose kiss sent her flying, whose hands were both gentle and firm, whose body felt warm and tight and safe while he rocketed them down the streets of New Orleans on his Harley Softail Night Train. Dorian. “We can’t do this,” he whispered against her lips. His breaths were ragged, his body rigid, his hands clenching and unclenching fists full of her hair. “Yes we can. Dorian, I don’t care what Julien does. I don’t care about the cameras.” She pulled herself up on her knees so that they were eye to eye on the window seat. Her hands were in - 190 -

The Third Kiss his hair, just as his were in hers. “Please don’t leave me. Please just let me have this moment,” she pleaded with him. Her eyes were sparkling; her lips were once again red. He could smell her blood, the soap and shampoo she’d used that morning as she’d tried to scrub Julien’s touch off of her body. And he could smell her arousal. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. With a guttural cry of surrender, he jerked her to him and covered her lips in another kiss. This one was pure animal instinct, driven by hunger and need and fear and love. Love. He slipped a hand from her hair to encircle her waist, and then lifted her from the window seat. In two long strides, he’d carried her to the bed. She clung to him as if he were a life line, her kiss as deep and as full of need as was his own. Her grip in his hair did not lessen as he laid her down, and he was forced to lower himself on top of her, their bodies pressed against one another, their kiss never broken. Emma’s senses were spinning out of control. Her mind was in a welcome state of oblivion, her body awakened with a desperate yearning, devoid of pain. She rose against Dorian, a delicious aching deep inside pushing her to a state of instinctive demand. She needed Dorian, wanted Dorian. Take me… Dorian growled low against her lips and his hands moved to the waistband of her sweats. He’d heard her. He hadn’t meant to be inside her mind, but with her this close, with his need this great, he’d lost control and let his mental feelers slip. There would be no stopping him now. With the skilled deftness of two hundred years of practice, Dorian pulled her shirt over her head in one swift movement, raising her up and then lowering her back down upon the mattress as he tossed the garment to the side. The action forced her arms over her head, and she left them there, willingly exposing herself to his covetous gaze. - 191 -

Heather Killough-Walden She hadn’t been wearing a bra underneath, and now his blue, glowing gaze drifted over her breasts, her collarbone, her stomach… Julien’s claw marks were red and swollen against the taut flesh of her abdomen. Dorian bared his teeth as anger bubbled up and mingled with the lust racing through his veins. As he stared down at the cruel puncture wounds, the color of his eyes began to change. Emma’s eyes widened. He resembled Julien, in that moment, as he stared ravenously down at her and his eyes went from blue, to purple, to red. Her breath caught in her throat. She was suddenly scared again. She gasped and froze when his hands spanned her abdomen, lightly tracing over the marks his brother had left. His gaze shot up to her face. He must have seen the fear in her expression, because he immediately sat back, pulled his hands away and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were blue. They still glowed eerily, but at least they didn’t burn red as the flames of Hell. Emma took a slow, shaky breath. Her body was still on fire with need. He was straddling her thighs, and she could see his own arousal pressed tight against his jeans. Slowly, so slowly, he braced his arms on the mattress at either side of her head and lowered himself back down until his face hovered mere inches above hers. “I want you, Emma. I need you so badly that it’s tearing me up inside. But I will never hurt you. Never,” he said, his voice a mere whisper, his eyes positively mesmerizing as she gazed up into them. She opened her mouth to tell him that she knew that, that she still wanted him, but he stole her next words with his kiss, and she instead arched up, pressing her breasts against his chest. The material of his t-shirt scraped against her nipples and she moaned with pleasure as they tightened into taut buds and more heat and wetness flooded between her legs. - 192 -

The Third Kiss Dorian didn’t hesitate this time. He reached his hand between them, and used his claws to shred her sweat pants into fleece confetti. Within seconds, she wore only a small pair of pink cotton panties, and he rid her of those just as quickly. And then her hands were on his waist, tugging at his shirt. She wanted to see him, wanted so bad to run her hands over the muscles she’d been admiring through his t-shirts for three days. He reared back, lifted the shirt easily over his head, and tossed it to the side as he had hers. Emma’s hands were immediately on his skin. He was perfection. His muscles were ripped and taut and glistened with the sweat of a man on the edge of sexual madness. His abs were an honest-to-god six-pack; he had pecs that she immediately wanted to sink her teeth into; and his biceps looked like they’d been sculpted by Michelangelo. Impossibly, her pulse sped up even faster, and she found her nails digging into his flesh. He lowered his gaze and peered at her through the tops of his glowing eyes. He growled low in his throat and tenderly pulled her hands away from his chest, placing them gently to the bed above her. He was careful not to touch her wrists, only grasping her fingers. She bit her lip and fought to keep her hands to herself as he again rose up and unbuttoned his jeans. He moved off of her, rising gracefully from the bed, and the jeans dropped to the floor. She gazed at him in stunned admiration. Definitely a Michelangelo. And then he was on top of her, having moved with blurred speed, and she was gasping for air as he lowered his mouth to her nipple and began to suck, then to bite. She cried out as intense pleasure arced through her body from that incredibly sensitive point, and he snarled in answer, moving above her until his hard arousal rested thick and hot between her legs. She automatically opened for him. She wasn’t thinking any longer. Any coherent thought she’d had earlier had long since been blown to smithereens by her lover’s touch, his mouth, his - 193 -

Heather Killough-Walden teeth and glowing eyes. She wrapped her legs around him and arched up to meet him, just short of begging him to thrust inside of her, to fill the aching, throbbing emptiness that waited, wet and warm, for his body. Please, take me… He grasped her hands again and held her down. He gazed down at her, every muscle and bone in his body prepared to ravage her, to claim her as his own. Even his fangs. He felt the blood lust rise within himself, just as everything else was, and as he watched her writhing beneath him, his Emma Rose, open, wet and waiting for him to connect their bodies together, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself. Please…Dorian! Her mind was screaming, her will long since surrendered. And that was all he could take. He held her fast, stilled for one more final moment, and then, as he peered deep into her eyes, claiming her with his ice-blue gaze, he thrust into her, hard and deep. She threw her head back, arching against him, and he sensed the scream coming a millisecond before it sounded from between her lips. He covered her mouth with his own. As she screamed into it, he swallowed the sound, drinking her pain and pleasure, kissing her with a fierceness and depth that he’d never felt for another woman. I love you… The thought was his own. It floated freely into his consciousness, and he knew it to be true. He kissed her until her cry was silenced, and then he slowly raised his head. She trembled beneath him, her body overrun with unnaturally powerful sensations. Making love to a man was one thing. Making love to a vampire was a lot more intense. - 194 -

The Third Kiss Her eyes were wide, her breathing ragged. He wanted to move inside of her but knew she needed this time to adjust. He was large, and she was tight, and a vampire’s body radiated a heat and concentrated pleasure that humans found forceful and addictive, yet sometimes a bit too severe. And then, without warning, she moved against him. Emma gasped, breathlessly, and then moaned deep in her throat when she rose up off of the bed, arching against him, and a nearly painful pleasure flooded her system. Her eyes closed of their own accord, but before they did, she spotted the flash of red ignite in Dorian’s eyes. And she didn’t care. She heard the rumble of his animalistic purr as he met her thrusts and parried with his own, slowly driving deeper and deeper within her, propelling them both forward into a state of unequalled carnal bliss. He had to taste her. He couldn’t control it. His gums throbbed, his body ached as it never had, his need raged through him, a hunger that he couldn’t deny. He stared at the pulse in her throat and lowered his mouth to her neck. He was still holding her hands against the bed, but he released them now, unconsciously hoping that she would stop him somehow, push him away, make him not do what he was about to do. Because he couldn’t stop himself. “Emma…” he breathed the word against her skin, a part of him begging her to understand. “I—” “Do it.” Her voice was a command, her tone certain. The red in Dorian’s eyes grew and brightened, two blazing fires in the plane of his handsome face.

- 195 -

Heather Killough-Walden She willingly met each thrust as he drove into her with abandon, and then he entered her mind, making sure she knew what she was asking – what he wanted. She did. She wanted him. She wanted him to make her forget. He growled and bared his fangs. One of his hands fisted in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck completely. He reared up, and then, as he thrust hard and deep into her wetness, he plunged his fangs into her throat. Again, she cried out, and again, he had anticipated she would. His hand covered her mouth as she shouted into it. There was no pain, as there had been with Julien. It was all pleasure. Horrible, beautiful, perfect, unnaturally intense pleasure. She screamed as an orgasm rocked her body and she felt him pull her blood into his mouth. He swallowed and pulled again and another hard spasm of impossible rapture choked the air from her lungs, and wrung a second cry from her rasping throat. He continued to ride her, moving steadily faster and faster within her, even as he continued to drink from her. He mercilessly sent her over that edge again and again, forcing scream after scream of heightened bliss from between her lips. Until, finally, his grip on her hair tightened, and his other hand snaked beneath her, lifting her from the bed to press her body against his with passionate strength. He drove into her one last time, and stilled there, pulling one final mouth full of blood from her veins as he came inside of her, and she felt him roar against the flesh of her neck. She hit that invisible wall right along with him, slamming her body full-force into sexual sedation, letting the ripples of pleasure ride over her as she then went limp beneath him, all of her strength gone, all of her energy spent.

- 196 -

The Third Kiss Numbly, as if in a dream, she felt his teeth pull out of her neck. She wanted to look up at him but couldn’t seem to move her head. Her body felt light, as if it were floating. As the last ripples of pleasure left her, she began to feel cold. Her brow furrowed. Or, did it? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t open her eyes. … Emma… Where were her fingers? She wanted to run them through his hair again, to pull him down with her and curl up against him. But she couldn’t feel her fingers. Everything was missing… cold… Emma! Dorian was calling her. But she could barely hear him. Where was he? Had he left the room? He sounded distant, as if he were trying to reach her from the gardens. Emma, drink. This confused her. What was he talking about? Drink. His voice had gone stern again. He was commanding her. She hated it when he used that tone with her. And then she was choking on something, and it was hard to breathe. She felt as if someone had stuffed a piece of fabric into her mouth, satin, maybe, and warm… Swallow. Good. Again. She could feel her fingers now. They tingled at the ends of her arms. Red light started to suffuse her vision, filling the blackness. Warmth was stealing over her. That’s it. Keep going.

- 197 -

Heather Killough-Walden She realized she was drinking something. It tasted strange, like heated wine and exotic spices and melted metal. She swallowed because she had no choice. It was as if someone else physically controlled her throat, making it flex and relax. The liquid pooled in her mouth, and she drank it down in reflex. She felt the bed beneath her and remembered. She opened her eyes. Dorian sat straddling her, his wrist pressed to her mouth, his other hand behind her head, raising her off of the bed. She swallowed one last time, and then he slowly lowered her to the mattress. Dorian removed his wrist from her mouth and gazed down at her. She was so pale that her skin appeared nearly translucent. Her eyes were large and unnaturally dark, her lips stained red with his blood. But the wounds that Julien had made across her stomach were closing up. The bruises on her wrists were all but gone. Dorian watched, in fascination and pure male satisfaction as Julien’s bite mark began to close, to fade, and finally disappeared. Last to heal was Dorian’s mark. It resisted the healing powers of Dorian’s own blood. It was as if it recognized that she was his, and that he wanted her to remain so. But finally, his own teeth marks began to fade as well, and within a few seconds, she lay beneath him, whole and, most importantly, alive. He’d almost lost her. He’d gotten caught up in her, had lost control, and had taken too much blood. She’d already been fed upon once, too soon before, and his kiss had left her drained to the point of death. He’d had no choice but to give her his blood.

- 198 -

The Third Kiss She was just lucky that vampire blood did not actually change a human into an immortal, as so many books and movies led the public to believe. Or maybe she wasn’t lucky... After all, if Dorian changed her, Julien would not be able to do so. He gazed down at her in wonder. And her gaze mirrored his. Slowly, he lifted off of her and moved to the side. He lay down on the bed and, with one arm around her waist, he pulled her back against his chest. Emma closed her eyes. When Dorian pulled a blanket over them both and kissed her gently on the neck, she smiled. And then she slept. **** Two floors down, in a small metal-lined room containing monitors and panels with row upon row of switches and buttons, a man watched the screens. His green eyes narrowed as the man and woman made love. He watched in stony silence as the vampire bit her and then gave her his blood. He let out a sigh. He was disappointed. Things would have to be done differently now. They would have to move much more quickly. He turned to leave, and as he did, he popped the tape out of the feeder and slipped it into his pocket.

- 199 -

Heather Killough-Walden

Chapter Ten “The number connects to the headquarters at Southland Lexicon Construction, also known as SLC,” Rachele told them over her shoulder. Patrick and Sam stood behind her as her fingers flew over the keyboard. “That makes no sense,” Sam said, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips. “Why would someone at Southland Lexicon buy Emma’s photographs? Aren’t they located in Tallahassee? Does she know anyone there?” “Actually, it does make sense, Sam.” Patrick’s expression was all business. “SLC is owned by Adalard Enterprises.” “He’s right,” Rachele agreed as another search result popped up on the screen. “Julien Adalard purchased the company back when it was still Atlantean Construction, Incorporated. That was seventeen years ago. Since then, its business has expanded globally.” “She’s at the Adalard estate. She’s in danger there.” “Again, I have to agree with you,” Rachele turned in her chair and met Patrick’s gaze. “I think Julien Adalard is a vampire. If you carefully study his records and the records of his supposed father and grandfather, you find a few chronological discrepancies. It’s a classic textbook vampire blunder. They can never seem to plan things perfectly enough to account for the fact that they live forever.” Sam swallowed audibly, and Patrick closed his eyes. He ran his hand through his hair. “So… What do we do now?” “Now, we call out the cavalry,” Rachele stood and headed toward the staircase that led back downstairs. “And storm the castle.” ****

- 200 -

The Third Kiss Emma awoke in Dorian’s arms and the comfortable ignorance of sleep dissipated at once as the reality of her situation assaulted her once more. Her eyes opened wide and settled on the camera in the corner. Its lens was pointed directly at her. She wondered how long she’d been asleep. She moved her legs and felt the weight of Dorian’s leg draped over them. It was heavy and warm. She looked down at Dorian’s well-muscled arm and ran the fingers of her left hand delicately over his skin. He tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. His lips lowered to her neck and his warm breath sent a delicious shiver through her body. She closed her eyes as he kissed the side of her throat, his lips lingering momentarily, as if he were considering biting her again. The very thought sent another shiver through her and he chuckled softly. She opened her eyes again, and automatically settled them on the camera. She was utterly torn between the cold and hard reality that the camera represented and the warm, comforting embrace of the lover at her back. As Dorian’s hand hesitantly released her waist so that he could slide beneath the cover and run it down the side of her hip and thigh, Emma bit her lip. “Dorian, what do we do now?” Dorian laughed again, the sound a low vibration against the skin on her neck. She once more closed her eyes beneath the onslaught of that delicious sound. His presence was literally wrapped around her and it overwhelmed her, made her tremble with anticipation. Gods, he was a sexy man. She knew she could never get enough of him. “I don’t know what you were planning on doing, cher, but personally, I have a beautiful naked woman in her bed and I was planning on getting to know her better.”

- 201 -

Heather Killough-Walden Emma sucked in a breath as his fingers slid down across her stomach toward the soft curls between her legs. She had to concentrate very hard to speak her next words. “I’d say you know me biblically now, Dorian. And that’s the problem.” Dorian didn’t stop touching her, didn’t stop feeling her. His other arm snaked beneath her and cupped her breast, effectively holding her fast against him as his fingers delved down through those soft curls and brazenly brushed the soft folds of her lips. She gasped and automatically arched against his hand. He laughed again, his teeth now grazing her neck. “Dorian, stop. Those cameras…” It was all she could bite out before his fingers were then shoving inside of her and her last words were swallowed up in a soft cry of pleasure. Dorian rose up on his elbow and gazed down at the woman in his arms. Desire coursed through him hot and heavy, as if he’d not had unimaginable satisfaction a mere hour before. He couldn’t get enough of her. She was so wet beneath his touch, so soft and warm and yielding. She was his queen, his beautiful, kind Emma Rose. She was positively radiant, and he was on the brink of another animalistic loss of control. “I know,” he told her, his tone a soft growl as he lowered back down, removing the arm beneath her so that he could run his free hand through her long golden hair. He brushed his lips against their silken locks and then moved to her ear. “Forget them. Forget him.” And then he ran his thumb across her clitoris and she cried out again and pressed her hand against his, urging him on in desperate yearning. Her breath was ragged, and her pulse fired away at a fierce tempo. He gazed down at her as he teased and tempted, and his eyes began to glow, first purple, and then red. Her own eyes were shut tight and her lips were parted. She was a vision of wanton beauty. His wanton beauty. - 202 -

The Third Kiss He growled low in his throat and pressed the rock-hard cock against her bottom. She gasped and her eyes flew open. “We can’t do this anymore!” she said, suddenly, even as her own body betrayed her by arching more fervently against his wicked, demanding hand. “Oh, yes we can,” he told her, his tone one of fierce finality. He meant to have her again, right here, right now, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. “Dorian, please…” Emma was fighting his seduction with everything she had, but he was a vampire, and it took an ungodly amount of strength to pull up and out of the whirlpool of lust he had created within her. Dorian watched her face as he continued to torture her with his fingers. She was out of control with the lust he was pouring over her. But there was something else there in her expression. He recognized it immediately, though he hated having to admit what it was. She was frightened. “Emma, I told you I would never harm you –” “No, Dorian, not you!” she cried out suddenly, and he stilled beside her. She seemed to fight for the breath to say, frantically, “I’m afraid of what will happen when Julien sees this – when he sees us –” “Shh,” he said softly, removing his hand from between her legs so that he could pull her back against him once again. A moan of desperate, confused disappointment escaped her throat when he did so, and it tore at Dorian as harshly as a double-edged blade. She was trembling in his embrace, her body ripped apart by fear and desire. Every bone in his body wanted to bring her to the brink of ecstasy at that moment, but something in his heart, something in the tone of her voice dictated that he take another course of action. It was imperative. Pivotal. - 203 -

Heather Killough-Walden He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair. Lust was riding him hard. He willed the change in him to retreat, to back down. “Shh,” he repeated, kissing her head softly. “It’ll be okay, Emma.” “No, it won’t. What do we do now, Dorian?” She was close to crying. Dorian held her tightly to him, as if both of their lives depended on that flesh-to-flesh connection. He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t let her go. He wanted to tell her about Tristan, about what they’d discussed. He wanted so badly to share something – anything – that would bring her some semblance of a sense of peace. But he couldn’t. He’d given his word. “We wait.” Dorian’s heart clenched painfully when the woman in his arms made a desperate sound much like a sob and began to squirm in his arms. He loosened his grip and she turned in the bed to stare up at him. Tears swam, unshed, in her large brown eyes. “We just wait here for him to come and kill us both tonight? That’s not good enough for me, Dorian!” Her tone was desperate, but no more than a whisper. “We’re running out of time.” He smiled a rueful smile that did not reach his eyes. “Julien would never kill you, my love. Me, yes. You, no.” He gently brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Or, as he would say, ‘non’.” She didn’t look at all placated. “Dorian, I don’t want him to kill you. There has to be something we can do!” Now he laughed bitterly. “He isn’t going to kill me. I’m too important to him. At least, for now I am.” He knew he should be scared, or at least feel worried about what he had just done, but

- 204 -

The Third Kiss it had simply felt too good. Too right. What he felt, instead, was anger toward Julien, devotion toward Emma, and more than a little physical frustration. He bent and took her mouth in a kiss. She pulled away almost instantly. His eyes flashed dangerously with the instinctive need to reclaim her, to not let her get away. “Dorian, I’m seriously scared. Julien is malicious. I should know. What will he do to you?” She ignored the warning look in his glacial gaze and cupped his handsome face in her hands. She brushed her thumbs against his cheeks, feeling the stubble of a twenty-four-hour shadow. “You’re right,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper, his tone tight. “I should be afraid, but I’m not. I just can’t be. My brother is an asshole, and he’s going to lock me in the dungeons for a month after this, but –” “Your what?” Emma had gone very still. Her expression was just as frozen. And then her eyes began to reflect a distinctly distressing revelation. She blinked up at him and repeated herself. Her voice was no more than a whisper. “Your what, Dorian?” He closed his eyes. He swore internally and mentally kicked himself. The cat was out of the bag. His gut clenched and his head began to ache. It was time for the truth, and the whole truth. “My brother,” he said. “Julien Adalard is my brother. My last name isn’t Bergeron. It’s Adalard.” He opened his eyes and waited. He held her gaze in his, willing her not to hate him. He could have actually entered her mind and done so with real efficiency, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t disregard her wishes, not even when it might mean he would lose her. “Your brother…” Her expression did not change, but she looked away from him, and then rolled out of his grasp. He let her go. She rose from the bed, taking the blanket with her. She wrapped it around herself and walked to the closet on the other side of the room.

- 205 -

Heather Killough-Walden “I thought your eyes looked similar. And the way you smile,” she said, her voice soft, her tone unrecognizable. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Well, not impossible, he thought. But I won’t… “You’re the same height. I would imagine the same build.” She opened the closet door and disappeared inside. He watched her go, and sat up. He could hear her moving in the space beyond. His muscles were taut, his jaw clenched. He felt wired, on edge. He was listening with inhuman ability, but she said nothing, not even under her breath. The tension was killing him. She stepped out a few moments later carrying a pair of jeans, a new t-shirt, undergarments, socks and a pair of shoes. She didn’t look at him. She simply balanced her items in her arms and walked next door to the bathroom. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. He made a small sound of frustration and ran a hand through his hair. He stood, found his clothes and riding boots, and pulled them on. He was pacing back and forth in front of the bed when she came out again. She was fully dressed, and her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. It made her look much younger than she normally looked, and she normally looked younger than her thirty years. She looked innocent, and he never felt more like the big bad wolf in his entire life. “Emma, say something.” “What do you want me to say, Dorian?” she asked with a shrug. “Anything. Just say something. Please don’t –” “Don’t what, Dorian? Don’t hurt you?” She came to stand before him then, and put her hands on her hips. She was wearing a pair of non-leather riding boots with a good amount of tread on them, and it gave her an extra few inches of height.

- 206 -

The Third Kiss Emma cocked her head to one side and he waited, in quiet desperation, for her to speak again. Finally, she asked, “So, what are you, anyway?” He blinked. “What am I?” She sighed. “What is your royal designation?” “I guess, technically, I’m a prince,” he answered, hesitantly. She was far too composed for his liking. There was a storm brewing in there somewhere beneath all of that calm. If he’d learned anything about anything in the past two hundred years, it was women. And William Congreve had been right. Hell hath no fury. “Okay. Prince Dorian. Answer one more question for me then, will you?” Uh oh. Here it comes. “How many other women have you and your brother shared, hmm?” His gut clenched. His eyes began to glow. The very thought of her believing that what they’d just done was nothing but another notch on his bed post and that he and his brother would share anything, much less want to, especially when it came to something as precious as her – “Because you’ve obviously lived a long time, right? What, maybe two hundred, three hundred years? That’s a lot of whoopee,” she continued, relentlessly. “Would you like me to give you a report in the morning? Tell you which one of you was better?” And something inside of him snapped. He grabbed her by the throat and spun, pinning her up against the wall. The air rushed out of her lungs and her hands instinctively, immediately, wrapped around his wrist. His eyes went from blue to red in about half a second flat, and when he spoke, he did so around fully elongated fangs. “Listen to me now and listen well, Emma Rose Nekoda. My brother is the king, and I am a bastard prince. There is no love lost between us, and we have never, in the two hundred years I have been alive, shared anything! And furthermore,” he said as he lowered his lips to within an - 207 -

Heather Killough-Walden inch of hers. “I will not allow you to believe that you mean nothing to me, do you understand? I will not allow you to believe that what we have done was some worthless, hollow coupling instead of what it really was.” She gazed up at him, her eyes watering. Once he’d gotten her up against the wall, he’d eased his hold on her a little so that she could breathe, but she still wasn’t going anywhere. This was too important. She needed to understand. She didn’t say anything for a long time, merely watched him with those large almond eyes of hers and their unshed tears. And then, very quietly, she asked, “And, what was it, Dorian?” There was no malice in her tone now, no spiteful bite to her words. She was simply asking him. His breath shook. His body nearly trembled with the emotions he felt at that moment. “Emma, you are my –” He’d been about to tell her that she was his queen, his queen, and that he loved her, when the door to her quarters came splintering open and slammed against the adjacent wall. Dorian reeled back and pulled Emma behind him, putting himself between her and the intruders that came pouring in through the door. They were all human, they were all male, and they were all dressed in clothing that looked a lot like S.W.A.T. gear. Since his fangs were already out, and his ire was already up, it didn’t take much effort for Dorian to slip into fight mode. His claws lengthened, and he emitted a low, threatening growl. And then the first man through the door raised a tranquilizer gun and aimed it at Dorian. He fired three rounds, and each one found its mark. Dorian felt the needles release their poison upon impact. Even as he yanked the darts from his chest and tossed them to the side, he could feel the sedative racing through his system. It was

- 208 -

The Third Kiss very, very strong, clearly having been formulated for his unnatural body. It would have killed a human three times over. Had he been a full vampire, the drugs would have had no effect on him. But Dorian was half human, and those human blood cells drank the poison up like sponges, and Dorian’s head began to swim. “No! Dorian, come on, don’t do this!” Emma was behind him; her arms were on his waist. He could feel himself falling, her grip slipping, as the men at the door spanned out, coming closer. “Do not hurt the woman,” a familiar voice spoke to the men. Dorian’s vision had blurred, but he looked up, even as he fell to his knees. “No… Not possible…” His mouth wouldn’t work right. His tongue wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t say anything further. His vision was tunneling inward, no matter how many times he tried to blink it open again. “Let me go!” There was a scuffle. “Dorian!” Dorian heard Emma screaming behind him, heard the sounds of a struggle, and could do nothing to help her. He knew he was going to lose this battle. He hoped it wouldn’t cost him his life, or Emma’s. As he closed his eyes and slumped forward onto the carpet, he heard someone come to stand beside him and then kneel. “I am sorry, mon ami. But you forced my hand. All will become clear later…” **** Emma struggled futilely in the grasp of the two men who held her between them. Their grips were strong, and she could not break their hold, but they somehow managed not to dig into her flesh and leave bruises. - 209 -

Heather Killough-Walden She glared at the man before her. “Tristan, why are you doing this?” And what are you doing, she thought. Who are all of these men? What did you do to Dorian? “Do not worry, Cherie, I have not hurt him. He merely sleeps. He would have fought until someone was dead, if I had not drugged him. It is his way.” Tristan’s green eyes seemed so clear, so bright, they were nearly unnatural in the light. Warning bells went off in Emma’s head. There was something not right about him. He had been so tender, so gentle, and had even seemed empathetic to her situation the night before, when he’d shown her the mansion and then brought her to her rooms. But he had seemed no more than a human. A man who worked for Julien Adalard. Now, she realized, as she stared at him and actually felt his mind brush hers, that she had been gravely mistaken. He was reading her mind. He was a vampire. But how? It was high-noon, in the middle of the day! Unless… “Ah, my queen, your mind works so quickly it is dizzying. Yes, I am a vampire.” He smiled, and his fangs grew before her eyes. Her pulse sped up. She tried, again, to pull free from the men’s grasps. Again, it didn’t work. “My father was a vampire. My mother, God rest her soul, was no more than a woman. Your lover is not the only one of our kind who can walk in daylight, my dear. In fact, we are not the only two.” She stared at him as she tried to digest the information. Dorian had said he was the only halfvampire in existence. He’d clearly been wrong. But how many were there? And what did any of this have to do with her?

- 210 -

The Third Kiss “It has nothing to do with you, Miss Nekoda. Not directly, in any case. My being a Halfling is simply a coincidence in this matter. You, my dear, are the real issue.” He came forward then, closing the distance between them, and she began to struggle with renewed vigor. “Do not fight, so, Cherie. You will only bring harm to yourself, and then I will be forced to sedate you.” He gestured behind him, to the unconscious half-vampire lying on the floor several feet away. “As I have Dorian.” “What are you going to do with me?” she asked. Her voice had risen, and her tone was becoming erratic. She was close to hysterics. “You were not meant to receive the second kiss today, but Dorian’s love for you has made that a verity. Therefore, we had no choice but to move a day early. You are going to be taken to Washington D.C., and there, you will meet Lord Aleksei Voronoi, the Russian vampire king. He has been waiting for your company for many centuries.” He raised a hand to touch her cheek and she flinched. Her mind was still reeling on what he’d just said. Not the Aleksei Voronoi part. Dorian’s love for you… Had he meant it? Could he possibly even know? His green eyes took on an unearthly glow. He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek and smiled a fang-filled smile. “Yes, Emma. Dorian loves you. I can not blame him.” He sighed. “I have a feeling you will not disappoint Lord Voronoi.” He removed his hand and stepped back. “Aleksei will give you the third kiss and, effectively, bring you over. Once this has been done, you will be his queen.” Emma’s eyes were large and dark in her pale face. She stared at him with nothing short of abject horror and a fair amount of shock. “Why would you do this, Tristan?” she asked, not understanding, in the least. “What could you possibly hope to gain from it?” - 211 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Much, my dear. That which you lose will become mine. Aleksei will take your freedom, and in return, I will be eternally freed from servitude.” “You mean you don’t want to serve Julien? What has that got to do with me?” “When I turn you over to the Russian king, I will be transferring my loyalties from Julien to Voronoi. And then Aleksei will grant me freedom from my duties as commissioner to the king.” “But Julien will just hunt you down and kill you.” “No, he won’t.” He was smiling a very pleased smile now. “He won’t, because he will be dead. There is about to be a revolution, Miss Nekoda. You are too young to have lived through one yourself, but I can attest to the fact that they are extremely invigorating experiences.” Emma stared at him. Had he killed Julien? And if he had, why hadn’t he just done that sooner? “I can not kill Julien Adalard,” he told her, obviously still reading her thoughts. She really hated that. “Though I am the one person who knows where he rests, I am his servant. I can not personally harm him. Besides, he is a warlock, a wizard of great evil and power, and he has warded his resting place against dangers that I could not overcome if I wanted to.” Ah, well that explains it, she thought. Even her internal voice sounded too high-pitched. I’m going to start giggling uncontrollably any minute now. “However,” he continued, “I was able to do one thing to him while he slept.” He dug his hand into his front pocket and pulled out a strange medallion that consisted of a leather strap and a single crystal. He held it up and it dangled between them. Emma looked more closely at it. The crystal was clear but for a red drop of liquid at its center. “This pendant kept Dorian Adalard at his brother’s mercy. The blood you see inside belongs to the prince, your lover,” he added, almost reprimandingly. “Julien used his magic to bring Dorian much pain and suffering through the use of this seemingly simple decoration.” He turned - 212 -

The Third Kiss to regard the man lying unconscious on the floor. “The king wore it around his neck until I took it from him, last night. Dorian will be quite happy to see that I have procured it for him. Especially when he wakes to find that he knows the location to Julien’s sleeping chamber.” “You’re going to sic Dorian on his brother?” Emma asked, incredulously. “My dear, the tension between the two has been building for centuries. I don’t need to sic Dorian on the king. I merely need to put him in the same general vicinity and show him that Julien no longer possesses any power over him. Dorian will immediately take care of the rest.” “What if Julien is stronger than him? What if he wins?” Tristan chuckled softly, and shook his head, as if her questions were endearingly silly. “Trust me. He isn’t. And he won’t. Why do you think he resorted to such a measure as this?” he asked as he gestured to the pendant he held. “Dorian is a born killer. Julien, on the other hand, is a coward. A very smart, calculating coward, but a coward nonetheless. Dorian will rip his head off.” With that, Tristan walked over to Dorian’s prone form and knelt beside him. He took the pendant and tucked it into Dorian’s hand, and curled the unconscious vampire’s fingers tightly around it. Then he pulled a note from another pocket on the inside of his own jacket, and laid it in front of Dorian’s closed eyes. He was sure to see it immediately upon waking up. “He should rise approximately two hours before sun down. It will give him enough time to follow the directions I’ve left him.” “What about the wards you mentioned? How is Dorian going to get to him?” “He will have to wait until Julien leaves his coffin and confronts him. Which, he must do eventually. Only the coffin is warded.” Holy shit, she thought. “You really do sleep in coffins.”

- 213 -

Heather Killough-Walden “No, I sleep in a bed.” Tristan corrected, waving his hand dismissively. “As does Julien, on most nights. However, on certain evenings, when he feels his life may be in danger or something similar, he disappears. Where he goes, only God and I know. It is at those times that he sleeps in a coffin.” He turned a wry expression on her and shrugged. “He’s very old world.” **** “This is Bennet. He’s an architecture student at Tulane. He’s a wizard.” Patrick shook the young man’s hand. “Please forgive me for my rudeness, Bennet, but what does your being a wiz at architecture have to do with saving Emma?” he asked. Bennet, a tall, decently-built man of around twenty years with short wavy blonde hair and blue eyes smiled and shook his head. “No, Rachele didn’t mean that I was a wiz at architecture. I’m a C student. She meant that I’m a wizard. As in magic.” “Oh?” Patrick asked, not knowing what else to say, and wondering, in the back of his mind, how much more bizarre information he could digest in a day without finding himself in a white padded cell. “Yeah. Ten years now. I was initiated when I was twelve. My father was a wizard before me.” “Okaaay…” Sam was seated across from the student at the small round table. He was staring at the young man with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. Four paper cups of hot coffee sat steaming on the table, but no one was drinking. “And this is Paxton. She’s a physics student, also at Tulane. She has a power a little like mine, but not exactly so. She’s a telepath.” “A telepath?” Patrick asked the girl. Paxton had shoulder-length dark red hair and wore contacts a shade lighter than her own brown eye color. The effect was rather attractive, if not a touch off-putting. She smiled at Patrick, - 214 -

The Third Kiss flashing perfect white teeth. “If I’ve had enough rest and haven’t been partying, I can read surface thoughts. I can’t do it to everyone – some people have these walls around their minds. But it sure comes in handy at test-taking time.” “I’ll just bet it does,” Sam said, his eyebrows raised. And then he leaned forward and addressed them all. “Umm. I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so – I’m sure you’re all very talented people – but I don’t understand why we don’t just call the cops. Emma could be…” His voice trailed off, as if he couldn’t find the strength to finish the thought. He glanced up at Patrick, who met his gaze and then put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Mr. Upshaw, I know this must be hard for you. You’re close to Emma, one of her best friends,” Rachele began. “I can sense as much. But the truth of the matter is that Julien Adalard most likely owns the police. If we’re going to help her, we have to do it ourselves.” “What, exactly, is the plan, Rachele?” Patrick asked then. “Bennet has procured a floor plan of Julien’s mansion,” Rachele answered. She picked up the four cups of coffee, placed them on a separate nearby table, and gave Bennet a nod. The young man bent beside the table, picked up a giant leather satchel and laid it out on the polished wooden surface. From within it, he pulled several large white pieces of paper, covered in blue lines and neat, tiny scribble. “We’ll know where every entrance is, and which ones will most likely be guarded,” he told them as he studied the plans with a trained eye. “I can also determine which room or group of rooms she’s being kept in.” “When we find the mansion’s weakest point of entry, we’ll head in, and Paxton can warn us when someone is coming.”

- 215 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Then I can begin with the spells,” Bennet continued. “I can cloak our presence, to a certain extent, and cause a bit of confusion. If it comes down to a fight, though, we’ll mostly have to depend on you and Sam.” He nodded at Patrick and Sam. Patrick nodded back and then glanced at his partner. Sam sat up straighter and, though he still appeared uneasy about this whole ordeal, he squared his shoulders and nodded as well. “I don’t really understand how Dorian was out during the day, but I got the sense that he was rather unique in that respect. Therefore, I’m fairly certain we’ll have an easier time of it as long as we get there while it’s still light – and get out long before the sun goes down,” Rachele continued. “Which means we should leave now.” **** Emma stared out the window of the private jet. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, the leather lining on the inside of the handcuffs protecting her wrists from the nickel-plated hardened steel. Tristan sat across from her. She could feel him watching her with keen interest. But a part of her didn’t care. She was caught up in her own flurry of thoughts. Dorian loved her. After only a few days. How was that possible? And yet it was. She knew it to be true, deep down inside. Because she realized that she could picture herself spending an eternity with him. And when she did, she flushed warm, felt content, a little more at peace. He completed her. And that was how it was possible. But she wouldn’t be spending eternity with Dorian. She would be spending it with a man she hadn’t even met. Yet again. “I wouldn’t worry so much about Aleksei, Emma,” Tristan cut into her thoughts, his voice warm and soothing. He was tricking her, using his voice as a weapon. “Get out of my head,” she told him, gazing directly into his eyes. - 216 -

The Third Kiss “But it’s such a pleasant place to be,” he said, smiling. “As I was saying, do not trouble yourself over the Russian king. He is a fair man. He is exacting, and swift, but fair. He has seen many battles, and won most of them. I have never known him to needlessly cause another being pain.” “What do you call what he’s doing right now?” she asked him then, her gaze narrowing into angry slits. His smile never wavered. “I said he has never needlessly caused pain. And for what it is worth, he has gone to some trouble to lessen the degree of your suffering.” Emma turned away from him, disgusted. “You were so certain that you were safe because you believe that Dorian will kill Julien,” she said then, her voice lowering. “But you never stopped to consider the possibility that Dorian will then kill you, himself.” Tristan watched her for several moments, not saying anything. She turned to look at him. His hands were clasped easily before him, his green eyes unwavering. He looked at her so fixedly, observing her with such close consideration, that she began to feel distinctly nervous. “What?” she asked, no longer able to take the silence. He shook his head once. “It is nothing, Cherie. Only that I can see you care deeply for him, and he clearly feels the same for you. I am truly sorry that he has had to lose you in this game.” “Liar.” “Non. I do not lie. If there were any other way to secure my freedom, I would take it. However, I have served the French vampire king for five centuries. I am tired, and never before has an opportunity such as this arisen. I have no choice but to take it, if only for my sanity’s sake.” Five centuries… Wow. He’s as old as dirt.

- 217 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Yes,” he smiled again, retiringly, this time. “And in those five centuries, I have seen and felt the sun upon my skin five times. Once for each century, on the anniversary of my birth. Which, as luck would have it, was yesterday. That is how careful I have had to be with my secret. I could not wind up like Dorian…” It was his turn to look out the window now. Emma could only stare at him. She was stunned by what he’d just told her. How could a man possibly hide from the sun, when he could so easily walk out into it, for five whole centuries? She couldn’t stand to do it for five whole days! No wonder he was so desperate. “Happy birthday,” she said softly, her tone reflecting her stunned state. “You’re a Virgo.” He turned back to her and blinked. The corner of his mouth twitched. Then he stared back out the window and continued to talk, his voice coming from far away now, as if he were telling a story heedless of whether or not his audience was listening. “My father raised me as a full vampire from birth. Vampires are very careful to keep their children out of the sun, so it was quite some time before he even came to realize what I was. I’d accidentally pulled a panel of wood from the top of the cellar in which I slept during the day. When I was not burned by the beam of light that entered, I told my father.” Tristan paused, lost in memory. “And he kept it a secret.” “Oui. He was protecting me. When he was killed by the enemies of Jacques Guerrier Adalard, I took his place as chief administrator and began to serve the king. The king never suspected I was anything but a normal vampire.” He turned to look at her then, and his green eyes pinned her to her seat. “No one has ever known. Until now.” Emma waited a moment before saying anything. She swallowed audibly. Then she took a deep breath. “Tristan, if you’re so positive that Dorian will kill Julien, then you know Dorian will be king.” - 218 -

The Third Kiss He nodded. “Why didn’t you just ask Dorian for your freedom? He would have given it to you.” “Because I am sworn to serve all of the French vampire kings, and have been since I gave my oath to the first, five hundred years ago. I can never be freed from one. It is not as simple as making a promise, Cherie. Not with vampires.” He took a deep breath, as if eternally weary, and shook his head. “When we make an oath, we are wholly, physically bound to it. I am driven by an undeniable command to do anything and everything my king tells me to do. If he wants me to hop on one foot, I will hop on one foot, no matter how hard I try to stop myself from doing it.” He paused, and then smiled a strange smile at her. “The only reason I was able to take you from the mansion and deliver you to Aleksei, in fact, is because Julien Adalard never expressly forbade me from doing so. Why would he? After so many years of faithful service from me, he would figure as much to be implied. Would he not?” He laughed then, low and cynical. It’ll be the last mistake he ever makes, she thought. He nodded, silently, as if agreeing with her mental statement. She narrowed her gaze at him, truly piqued that he wouldn’t stop reading her mind. He fell quiet for several seconds, and then continued. “When Dorian becomes king, I will be just as bound to him, no matter what he tells me. All because of my oath.” He turned to look out the window at the clouds that slowly passed beneath the speeding jet, and the earth that rotated thirty-seven thousand feet below. “However, vampire sovereigns can barter their servants. I can be espoused by the Russian king. I need only prove my loyalty to him once, and I am his. And as long as I do not swear an oath of allegiance to him for all time, he can liberate me.” He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “This, Aleksei has sworn to do.” “You’re proving your loyalty by taking me to him, aren’t you?” she asked. - 219 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Oui. And in regards to your earlier remark, about Dorian doing away with me,” he glanced at her and shrugged. “Dorian is not a vengeful man. I believe that once he finds it is difficult to locate me, he will give up and let me live. However,” he continued, now watching her with renewed interest. “He has never felt about anyone the way he feels about you, and so I have made arrangements, just in case.” “What kinds of arrangements?” He looked poignant for a moment, almost sorry. “Let’s just say that, unlike Julien, there are a few humans on this planet that Dorian cares for a great deal.” Emma blinked. What was he saying? Had he kidnapped someone that Dorian cared for? A woman? A child? Would he threaten them some how if Dorian decided to come after him? She closed her eyes and turned away from Tristan. At that moment, she honestly didn’t want to know.

- 220 -

The Third Kiss

Chapter Eleven “There’s a man at the gates.” Patrick leaned back and glanced at Rachele, who was seated on the right side of the back seat. “I know. I see him.” Rachele had rolled down her window and was peering through binoculars at the man who stood in a booth just inside of Julien Adalard’s property line. “But I honestly thought there would be more than one. Like… half a dozen, at least.” She lowered the binoculars and squinted, her expression troubled. From where he sat against the door, in the back seat, Bennet said, “I think I can handle just the one.” Beside him, Paxton nodded. “He’s day-dreaming anyway, I can hear him from here. He’s thinking about muffalatas and crawfish pies.” “The entrance you pointed out to us is in the back, though.” Sam peered at Bennet through the rear-view mirror of the Highlander. “I thought we were going to climb over the wall and then mojo the dogs.” “This would be much easier,” Rachele told him. She had lifted the binoculars to her eyes again and was once more gazing into Adalard’s property. “No alarms would get set off. We could park in the grass, behind the oak trees. His land looks like a veritable forest, at least from where I’m sitting.” “Fine. Hop out and do your stuff,” Sam told Bennet, and the young man nodded. They all watched as he opened the back door, climbed out, and moved around the SUV. They had parked in the entrance to a drive, down the street, about a block away from Adalard’s entrance. The drive led to the back of some kind of animal sanctuary, but was roped off with chain and a sign that warned against trespassing.

- 221 -

Heather Killough-Walden Bennet moved through the drive and into the adjoining forest. He was lucky that it was September and not May, or the grass and twigs he walked along would have been nothing but knee-deep swamp water. The rest of the team watched from the car. He moved in about fifty feet, until they could barely see his form through the branches and leaves. And then Paxton closed her eyes. “He’s chanting. Some pretty strange words. And he’s moving his hands.” Rachele turned away from him and looked through the binoculars. “And our watch dog suddenly has to pee.” She smiled and Patrick reached back for the field glasses. She handed them to him, and he raised them to his eyes. She was right. The guard at the gate suddenly looked very uncomfortable. He was glancing around, and then glancing at his watch, and then the man actually clutched at his crotch. A second later, he was pushing through the back door of the booth and running at a full gallop across the lawn. “And he’s gone.” “He’s pissed, too. No pun intended. But someone was supposed to take his place by now. Rache’, you were right about there not being enough guards. Something is going on inside that house.” Paxton opened her eyes and turned to look at her friend, who caught her gaze and nodded. Rachele tapped Sam on the shoulder. “Let’s go, Gentle Ben. The coast is clear and we don’t have much time. Bennet will catch up with us.” “Actually, he’s already on his way across the street,” Patrick told them. He was still peering through the binoculars. “Go, Sam. Let’s get in there while we can.”

- 222 -

The Third Kiss Sam pulled the vehicle out of park and stepped on the gas. They were across the street and pulling through the gates just as they began to open. Bennet stood behind the glass of the booth, working the equipment. Once they were all the way through, he shut the gates behind them. Sam stopped the car long enough for Bennet to jump back in, and then he began fourwheeling it across the hills and foliage of the estate’s vast gardens. They were lucky not to run over any gardeners on the way. Still, on the off-chance that they would have met up with someone, Bennet had been ready with another spell. Sam found a cove that would provide adequate coverage, and he pulled the Highlander beneath it, wincing when he heard the sound of the trees’ lower branches scraping across the SUV’s top paint. “Ouch. Sorry about that, Sam,” Rachele said from the back seat. “I know someone who does good body work for really cheap, if it helps any.” Sam didn’t say anything. He just shot her a look in the rearview mirror. “Okay, now the weak link is around the East side of the building, beneath the –” Bennet stopped mid-speech and stood stock-still. “Whoa… This place is warded, guys. I can feel them everywhere…” “Wards?” Rachele came to a stand-still beside him. “What kind?” “Protective, mostly. Repulsive… Oh my god.” “What?” everyone asked at once. “There’s a warlock here. A powerful one. This is not good.” “But, aren’t you a warlock?” Patrick asked, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “No,” Bennet answered, quickly. “I’m most certainly not.” He almost glared at Patrick reprimandingly. “I’m a wizard. Warlocks are evil. I should know, my uncle’s one. He is not a nice man.” - 223 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Crap,” Paxton ran a hand through her short red hair. “So, what do we do now?” “It’ll take me a while, but I think I can probably find another weak spot.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Sorry about this guys. It just happens sometimes.” “Actually, we should have expected this,” Rachele sighed. “I don’t know why I didn’t consider the possibility.” “You guys, I hear something. Someone’s coming.” Paxton waved them all back under the cover of the copse of trees, and they peeked out from behind the foliage. A young black man dressed in faded jeans, sneakers, and a white t-shirt was walking across the lawn in front of them, heading straight in their direction. “Wow. He’s hot.” Rachele licked her lips. “He’s also coming right for us.” Patrick cut a glare at her. “He’s also wondering where the hell everyone went.” Paxton closed her eyes. “He’s thinking that the estate grounds were overrunning with people early this morning – especially guards. And now, everyone’s gone.” She opened her eyes again. “He’s thinking that even Elizabeth’s gone, and he’s disappointed, because he had just gone to the kitchens to get some food.” She looked over at her companions. “I’m guessing Elizabeth’s the cook.” “Damn. You’re really good.” Patrick blinked down at her. She grinned. “But he’s still heading this way.” Sam muttered. “I can take care of him.” Without warning, Bennet stepped out from behind the bushes and approached the man. The black man halted in his tracks and glared at Bennet. The others could hear their conversation from where they were hiding. “What the hell are you doing on this property?” the man asked, his voice a low timber, his eyes a strange grayish green that stood out starkly against the skin on his handsome face. “Damn, he even sounds fine…” Rachele purred quietly. - 224 -

The Third Kiss “Shh.” Patrick cut her another glare. Bennet held up a hand. “I’m looking for someone.” “Bennet sounds pretty cool too,” Paxton whispered. It was true. The young wizard’s voice had changed, taken on a different tone, lowered into a strange, almost eerily calming resonance. “Magic,” Rachele replied. The black man eyed Bennet for a second and then took another threatening step forward. “How did you get in here?” he asked, but his tone was a touch softer than before. “I drove. I’m looking for a friend of mine. Her name is Emma. She’s about five-foot-three or four, long golden-brown hair, brown eyes…” The man’s expression softened a little. “I know her…” “Good,” Bennet replied, the magic in his voice intensifying. “Can you tell me where she is?” The man blinked. He shook his head as if to clear it, and then his gaze settled on Bennet again. And completely glossed over. “Tell me where she is, Alain,” came Bennet’s command. He was continually moving forward, closer to the black man. “She was up in that room,” Alain said, turning to point at a row of windows on the third floor of the mansion. A curtain had been drawn across them. “I caught her staring at me this morning.” He smiled a small, dreamy smile, but in a second, it was gone. “She was with Mr. Bergeron.” “Dorian,” Patrick whispered from his hiding place behind the bushes. “This morning.” Bennet reached him and stared deep into the man’s eyes. They were roughly the same height, so it wasn’t difficult. “Is she there now?” “I don’t know,” Alain shook his head slowly. His gaze narrowed. “Tell me,” Bennet commanded, and even his friends, watching from a distance, began to feel slightly light-headed. “Tell me what it is you know.” - 225 -

Heather Killough-Walden “I think she was hurt. Had something like cuts or bruises on her neck. I could see them from here.” “Fucking son of a fucking-” Rachele reached up and placed two fingers across Patrick’s lips, silencing his outburst. Sam turned and pulled the man into a tight embrace, and Patrick swore softly into Sam’s shirt. Bennet did not break eye contact with Alain. Instead, he lowered his head and peered at the man through the tops of his blue eyes. “How many guards are between here and the kitchens, and where are they?” he asked. “Two. One at the servant’s entrance, one in the hall leading to the…” There was a tense moment of silence where nobody moved. Nobody breathed. “… Dining room.” Then, in a voice that was virtually unrecognizable as Bennet, the wizard said, “Go home, Alain. Now.” The black man stared at him a moment longer, and then he turned around and strode back across the grass toward the walkway that led around the house to where the garages and parking spaces were laid out. Once the man was out of sight, Bennet fell to his knees in the grass. Paxton jumped up and ran to his side. She knelt down beside him as the others came out from behind the bushes and joined them. “Are you all right?” He nodded. He was shaking. “He was very strong.” He shook his head, running his hands over his face, and then clenching them into fists to get them to stop trembling. “Plus, he’s probably very well paid for the work he does, which makes him loyal. He really didn’t want to talk. He definitely didn’t want to leave.”

- 226 -

The Third Kiss Paxton glanced in the direction in which Alain had disappeared. “You’re right, he was strong. He had those walls up around himself. I couldn’t get anything off of him except the general buzz that told me he existed and was there.” Bennet made as if he wanted to stand, and Sam offered him his arm for support. Once he was on his feet, he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Two guards. And I’m afraid I can only handle one of them. I’m pretty sapped and I still have to find a weak spot in the wards so that we can get through.” “Don’t worry, Bennet. I’ll handle both of the guards.” Sam patted the man on the back, his expression determined. “Just get us inside.” **** …Emma… A dull roar. A drum beat. A dull roar. Another drum beat. … Emma… He was being sucked down, held down, then let go. Sucked down again, then released. Light and color played hide and seek with the dark before his eyes. There was no sound but the drum and the roar, and they grew louder. The drum beat sped up. The roar became a cacophonous din in his ears. Pain shot through his chest, making him grit his teeth. He opened his mouth to breathe, but roared with rage instead. “…Emma!” He was on the floor of her room, and he was alone. He opened his eyes and immediately closed them against the light that stabbed through them. The floor tipped a little beneath him and he growled, his claws lengthening. He dug them into the carpet and clenched his teeth against the dizziness.

- 227 -

Heather Killough-Walden He’d broken free from the hold of the tranquilizers before he’d been supposed to. He could tell that much by the way they refused to relinquish control of him. So tired…So dizzy. He lifted up onto one elbow and realized that he was gripping something in his hand. He opened his eyes, despite the pain, and unclenched his fist. It took a moment for him to realize what it was he held. The surprise he felt was muted, having been thrown at him on top of too much shock and too many emotions already. Nonetheless, he was in a mild state of awe as he gazed down at the leather strap and its attached crystal. A drop of his blood sat, suspended, at its center. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, what Tristan had done. **** The group had made it to the stairwell that led to the third floor, Sam having spectacularly dealt with the two afore-mentioned guards, when they heard a man bellow Emma’s name from somewhere above them. Patrick’s head snapped up, and he was racing up the stairs before Sam or anyone else could stop him. But Sam was close on his heels as Patrick sprinted down the hallway in the direction of the room that had been pointed out by Alain. They found the door already broken and lying, awkwardly, in its metal hinges. Beyond the door lay a series of vast rooms, connected together. And on the floor, beside a massive fourposter bed, sat Dorian Bergeron. Dorian’s eyes focused on the door when he heard the sound of footsteps hurtling down the hallway. He tried to lift himself up, but his strength had not yet returned, his arms were shaky, and he could only push himself into a sitting position.

- 228 -

The Third Kiss He watched as Sam Upshaw and Patrick Nekoda came racing through the doorway. Patrick’s eyes settled on him and the man’s face twisted into a mask of fury. He rushed forward, and Dorian braced himself. “Where is my sister, you goddamned son of a bitch?” Patrick reached his prone form and grabbed Dorian’s shirt front in his fists, lifting him up off of the ground and onto his booted feet with a strength that surprised Dorian. It wasn’t that Patrick wasn’t built for strength, but Dorian was a vampire, and as such, he was a touch more muscular, a touch heavier than most human beings his size. Dorian’s own strength was still seeping slowly back into his muscles as the tranquilizer very gradually renounced its tenacious grasp on his body. At the moment, he could most likely defeat Patrick, but the actions he took would be uncontrolled and convulsive and Patrick would be seriously hurt. So, he used his mind instead. He peered down into Patrick’s eyes with such intensity and such ruthless drive, that Patrick’s hands instantly went slack around his shirt. When he completely released Dorian and swooned beneath the vampire’s mental barrage, Dorian was at least strong enough to remain standing. “Let him go, damn you!” Sam was rushing him then, clearly aware of what Dorian was doing to his partner. Dorian turned just in time to take the impact of Sam’s shoulder in his abdomen as the large man tackled him roughly to the ground. The wind was instantly knocked from his lungs and stars swam before his eyes. His fangs erupted in his mouth and his vision went red. He didn’t have time for this. Emma needed him. At once, Dorian’s strength came flooding back to him. He lifted the large man off of his chest by one hand and threw him into an opposite wall. Sam hit the wall so hard that the plaster - 229 -

Heather Killough-Walden split and separated beneath his weight. He slid to the floor and rolled once before slowly pushing up on his hands and knees. Dorian was standing again as two women and another man came running into the room. He spun to face them, claws out, fangs extended, eyes glowing a hellish red. “Whoa –” Rachele skidded to a halt, holding her hands out at her sides to stop Paxton and Bennet behind her. She felt them run into her arms, and stiffen at the sight that greeted them. “Holy shit…” Bennet swore and then immediately began chanting. Dorian’s gaze narrowed, a low menacing growl escaping his throat. “Bennet, stop!” Rachele turned to him. He stopped chanting and cut a worried glance her way. “He won’t hurt us,” she told him quickly. “He wasn’t the one who hurt Emma…” Her voice trailed off as she turned to regard the vampire again. She sincerely hoped the vibes she was getting from him were correct. Because he cut an impressive figure with his ripped muscles and glowing eyes and long claws. And fangs. Her gaze slid over him, and she shivered. She’d been wondering, ever since she’d seen him the day before, in Jackson Square, what he looked like when he changed. Well, now she knew. “Dorian,” she said, fighting to keep the tremble from her voice. “Where is Emma?” Dorian considered her for a moment. After a second or two, he recognized her. She was the palm reader from Jackson Square. What the hell was she doing here? For that matter, what were Sam and Patrick doing here? And who were these other people? He did not have time for this. At sun down, Aleksei Voronoi would give Emma the third kiss. And she would be lost to him forever. He growled in frustration and spun on Sam, who had risen and moved to stand next to Patrick. Patrick was slowly coming out of his vampire-induced daze. Sam looked up at Dorian, - 230 -

The Third Kiss and the vampire could tell that the man wasn’t going to attack him again unless Patrick was threatened. So he turned back to the palm reader. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, his voice an animalistic snarl of anger and frustration. “We know Emma is in danger,” she answered. “We came to help her.” “As you can see,” he said, baring his fangs, “she isn’t here.” Rachele nodded, biting her lip. “I know. Where is she?” Dorian gritted his teeth. “She’s been taken,” he told them, laying it out plain and simple. “She’s on her way to D.C. right now, and at night fall, she’ll become a vampire – unless I get there to stop her – and you’re all wasting my time.” “She’s been taken by someone named ‘Tristan’,” Paxton suddenly said. She was staring at Dorian with wide, luminous eyes. “She’s being given to the Russian vampire king. He’s going to give her the ‘third kiss’ and change her into a –” She broke off, Dorian’s growl of fury throwing her concentration. She gasped up at him. His gaze bore relentlessly into her. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, striding toward her. Bennet was instantly in front of Paxton, shielding her from Dorian’s menacing form. Dorian’s eyes cut to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man, and pinned him to the spot. Bennet swallowed loudly. “And what are you,” he asked Bennet as he took another step forward, coming to stand directly in front of the young wizard. “You smell familiar.” “I’m – I’m a wizard,” he stammered, but bravely held his position. Dorian studied the man. He was tall, and had the makings a handsome man. In fact, Dorian mused, he looked a lot like a younger version of himself. But it was the smell of his blood that fascinated Dorian. It reminded him of... - 231 -

Heather Killough-Walden His eyes flickered like flame, and his lips turned up in a snarl. “You are related to Jakob Bennet.” Bennet didn’t deny it. He squared his shoulders. “He’s my uncle.” A low rumble of a growl emitted from Dorian’s towering form. “Jake Bennet is a man of questionable morals,” he hissed. “The only reason I haven’t killed him is because he is no longer residing in my territory.” Dorian glared at the young man. Bennet nodded slowly. “I know. He’s a warlock. And, please believe me when I tell you that I like him no better than you.” He spoke quickly, praying that the vampire would believe him. And lucky for him, Dorian did. Dorian was well acquainted with Jakob Bennet. While the warlock had lived in Louisiana, the man had raped and murdered, using magic to assist him in his vile goals. Julien had forbidden Dorian from taking action against the warlock, which frustrated Dorian, but did not surprise him. Finally, Jake Bennet managed to do something that stepped on Julien’s toes, and Dorian at last had permission to kill him. But by that time, it was too late. Bennet disappeared from the radar – and reappeared in Salem, Massachusetts, the home of England’s famed vampire king, Merrick Thane London. Now Jake Bennet was London’s responsibility. Dorian only hoped it was one the British vampire king took seriously. Staring into this man’s eyes, right now, Dorian had to admit that Jacob Bennet’s nephew was, in stark contrast, a good man. He was nothing like his uncle. He could smell the magic in Bennet’s blood, but it was not a dark scent. It simply smelled like magic. And the man was clearly honorable, putting himself between Dorian and the woman behind him. Not to mention, brave, and perhaps a bit stupid. Whatever it was, this Bennet was okay. - 232 -

The Third Kiss “All right,” Dorian said as he took a step back and his eyes went from red to purple. “This is how this is going to work.” He turned so that he could see Sam and Patrick, who were standing beside each other, turned toward him, watching the vampire carefully for his next move. “You two go sit over there.” He gestured to the bed. Patrick glared at him, plainly still enraged. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his nostrils flared. Sam looked from Dorian to Patrick and back again. Then, gently but firmly, he grabbed Patrick by the upper arm and pulled him to the bed. Patrick sat next to Sam, but his eyes never left Dorian’s. Satisfied that they were out of the way, Dorian turned back to the wizard, the palm-reader, and the woman who had somehow managed to read his mind. “You three – over there, on the window seat. Now.” Bennet glanced over his shoulder at Paxton, and then looked sideways at Rachele. Rachele nodded to him, a small reassuring gesture, and the three of them began to make their way across the room. They moved gradually at first, and then quickly, once they’d passed through and out of the reach of the pissed-off vampire. Now Dorian could stand near the doorway and have them all safely in his sight. He forced himself to take a deep breath. His eyes went from violet to blue, but still glowed eerily in the handsome frame of his face. “I don’t know what the hell you think you are all doing, and I don’t know how you got in here. But you’re right about one thing,” he told them, his tone utterly no-nonsense. “Emma is in danger, and I have to charter a flight to D.C. immediately in order to help her.” Patrick opened his mouth to say something, and Dorian cut him a warning glance. Patrick closed his mouth, his face red with emotion.

- 233 -

Heather Killough-Walden “You will all accompany me and explain yourselves during the flight,” he told them. No one dared object. He went on. “The thing you must know is that I mean Emma no harm.” He stared at Patrick as he said this, willing the man to believe him, to understand. He did it more for Patrick’s benefit than anything else. “I love her and would never hurt her.” Now he looked from Patrick to the three by the window. “But there are others out there who do not feel the same way. They pose a threat to her and must be stopped. I absolutely can not be slowed down or held back by the five of you tonight. Do I make myself clear?” Like school children who’ve just been caught cheating by the principal, the group nodded in unison. He was that charismatic. He was that scary. Dorian took another deep breath and let it out through his nose. And then he noticed the white folded paper lying on the floor a few feet from Emma’s bed. It rested near the pendant, which he’d dropped when Patrick had attacked him. He strode across the room and picked them both up. Everyone watched him in silence. He unfolded the piece of paper and read. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He stared at it a good long while. No one dared even fidget. Finally, with the quiet deliberation of a man who bore too many burdens, Dorian re-folded the piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket.

- 234 -

The Third Kiss

Chapter Twelve Emma’s pulse sped up and her stomach jumped up into her throat when the plane’s landing gear touched down. She instinctively tensed, her feet finding solid purchase on the floor of the jet, her wrists pulling futilely against the cuffs behind her. Tristan watched her reaction and prepared to move quickly. He could feel her fear, almost smell her apprehension, and knew that it was just now truly becoming evident to her that her time as a human was nearly up. He had expected as much, but did not wish it to come to the point that she began to fight him, with real and terrified enthusiasm, just before he would turn her over to Lord Voronoi. Tristan sighed softly, and she glanced over at him. She looked as though she were ready to run. He could force her into a catatonic daze if he looked into her eyes hard enough, but again, he greatly wanted her to be on her feet and walking, of her own accord, when she met the man who would be her eternal king. In addition, she was incredibly strong-willed. All she would have to do is break his gaze and his power over her would diminish. “Emma, you need to calm down.” He fingered the capped syringe in his pocket. “If you fight me, or any of my men, I will have no choice but to drug you. I know you don’t want that.” He spoke calmly, softly, hoping to placate her into a sense of tranquility. Her hands clenched behind her back. He could see the muscles tensing in her arms. She was trying hard not to explode into action. She knew, instinctively, it would do no good. But the fight or flight reflex was difficult to ignore.

- 235 -

Heather Killough-Walden He tuned his inhuman hearing into her rigid form and heard the machine-gun beat of her racing heart. Her blood was pumping fast, and it was laced heavily with adrenaline. It smelled good. He forced himself not to lick his lips, and instead, simply continued to gaze into her eyes. “Life as a queen comes with many benefits,” he said, his tone still calm. “You will hold an entire nation in the palm of your hand. Aleksei will give you anything and everything you desire-” “My freedom?” she asked. Her expression was hard, her teeth clenched. He sighed. “Ah. Non. I’m afraid, my dear, anything but that.” Her heart beat had not calmed. But he was impressed by her resolve. She had yet to jump out of the seat and make a mad dash for the exit, which was now being opened behind them. Emma turned to watch as the human pilot exited the plane, moving down the lowered stairs and into whatever lay beyond. The light coming through the opening was dim, which meant that the daylight was fading. It was almost night. She turned back to Tristan. They were alone on the jet now. “We are going to get off of the plane and get into a car,” he told her, his tone one of cool instruction. “The drive to Voronoi’s estate is roughly an hour long. During that time, you will eat and drink something, and I will fill you in on the king.” She really didn’t like being told what to do. Anger now joined the fear racing through her body, and she began trembling with the need to lash out somehow. To attack Tristan. To run for her life. “I can’t do this,” she said. Her voice was high pitched, desperate. She hadn’t meant to say it. It had just come out. Her eyes cut to the open exit. She slid forward in the seat. “Yes, you can,” Tristan told her. He moved so fast that it blurred, and his hand was on her chin, turning her head so that she looked into his eyes. - 236 -

The Third Kiss They glowed green as emeralds on fire, and the heat seared into her core. When he spoke, the words echoed in her mind, as if she was sitting in some vast chamber, and he was all around her. “You will get up and walk out of here with me. You will not fight me, Cherie. Do you understand?” She stared, lost, in the vast labyrinth of his emerald gaze. She felt herself nodding. “Good.” He rose and gently pulled her up after him, his hand wrapped around her upper arm. Then he took hold of her wrist behind her, just above the leather-lined metal of the cuffs. He urged her forward, and she began walking ahead of him, toward the exit. Now that she was no longer peering into the green depths of his eyes, she felt strange. Tingly. She wondered why she wasn’t struggling. How could she be so calm? She was about to die! She was about to give up her life for another one – one of everlasting nights and no sunshine and no chocolate. No chocolate, for chrissake! She stilled, and Tristan stopped beside her. He lowered his lips to her ear. “This is your last warning, Miss Nekoda.” She could hear the irritation in his voice, laced with something baser, something hungry. She shivered. His grip on her wrist tightened. He nudged her forward and she somehow found the will to put one foot in front of the other. They disembarked to find men in suits, waiting quietly on either side of the stairs. Tristan nodded, and they returned the gesture as they passed. Up ahead, on the black top, waited a black Rolls Royce limousine, its driver standing by it, waiting patiently. Several other smaller black luxury cars were parked around it like satellites. Men in dark suits were everywhere. It looked like a convention of the secret service. She wondered whether they had guns under their jackets. And if they did, who was it they thought they might have to shoot? - 237 -

Heather Killough-Walden Tristan walked her to the limousine, and the driver opened the door. Emma’s gaze caught on the orange-pink sun. It was just sinking over the horizon. Tristan saw what she was looking at, and he paused, allowing her this moment. It would be the last time in her long life that she would be able to look upon the sun. They stood there, for several minutes, no one saying a word. They simply allowed her to watch, until the sun finally set and dusk swallowed her half of the world. Then, just like a police officer would have done, Tristan placed his hand atop her head to protect it as she bent and climbed inside. She sat back as well as she could, considering the hand cuffs, and tried to catch her breath. Her heart was racing so hard that she was queasy. Her head began to throb. Tristan took the seat across from her, and the door closed on them. He watched her as she took in their surroundings. The limousine was incredibly well appointed. The lighting remained on, even after the door had shut, but it was soft lighting, and very soft cello music played from hidden speakers. She loved the cello. They’d really done their homework. Tristan leaned toward her and she tensed. He smiled, took her arm and pulled her to the side, turning her so that he had access to her cuffs. She felt him work the lock, the sound of metal on metal loud in the relative quiet of the car’s interior. Then her hands were freed, and he was sitting back again, sliding the cuffs into his pocket. She brought her hands around and gingerly rubbed her shoulders. Her wrists didn’t hurt too badly, seeing as how the metal had been padded. But being cuffed for so long will put a strain on your shoulders and elbows.

- 238 -

The Third Kiss She watched as Tristan pushed a button and a panel in the floor opened up. Emma’s eyes widened when a small round table rose from the panel, unfolded, and settled, with a neat electronic whir, between them. It was a mini-bar. Tristan pulled a flask of red wine from the bar and poured it into a delicate crystal glass. He held it out to her, his green eyes willing her to take it. She looked down at the glass, wondering if its contents had been drugged. “It is wine,” he told her. “It is, in its very nature, a drug. But other than the alcohol inherent within it, there is nothing which will alter your state of utter terror, my dear.” Tristan was smiling at her, but the smile was tight. She could tell that his patience were wearing thin. She took the glass. He then poured one for himself and proceeded to down its entire contents. She blinked. “I didn’t know vampires could eat and drink,” she said, surprised enough, at the moment, to forget her impending doom. She remembered Dorian telling her that he hadn’t tried the cook’s croissants. “Half vampires can consume a limited number of things,” he told her as he re-filled his glass. “Wine is one of them. I personally prefer red to white, but either will do.” “And,” she continued, hesitantly, “what about full vampires?” He looked at her and his expression softened into one of regret. He knew she was curious about herself and what she would be able to do when Aleksei converted her. “Non, Cherie. I am very sorry, but full vampires and their changelings can consume nothing but blood.” He may as well be honest with her. She would find out sooner, rather than later, anyhow. He continued to talk, hoping to distract her. “I have had to be incredibly careful, in the past five-hundred years, to only partake in mortal food and drink when I knew it would leave my system before Julien, or another vampire, could smell it in my blood.” - 239 -

Heather Killough-Walden She took a sip of her wine, listening, as he’d hoped she would. He had to admit, she was a very good listener and pleasant company, when she wasn’t contemplating escape. “I reveled in the moments when Julien would send me on an assignment that would take me far from the mansion.” His lips curled into a small smile as he recalled pleasant memories. “Once, he sent me back to Paris. I was able to remain there for seven days, and one such day was the anniversary of my birthday. During the first day, I ate and drank to my heart’s content. And then, on that single certain day, I walked the streets of Paris, feeling the sun upon my skin, relishing in the sights and sounds and colors.” She blinked, and sadness swept over her. He realized his blunder immediately. “Emma, I am sorry –” She looked away from him, biting back tears that stung her eyes. She put her glass to her lips and downed its contents in two swallows. Then, without looking at him, she held her glass out for more. Wordlessly, he refilled it. **** “He’s your brother?” Patrick’s eyes were shooting sparks. He glared at Dorian with a mixture of awe and something akin to hatred. Dorian had gotten his sister into this mess. Actually, not according to Dorian. According to Dorian, Emma had fallen into this mess when Julien had dreamt of her three nights ago. But Patrick was having a difficult time getting past the fact that Dorian was the one who had retrieved her. And, he wasn’t a fool. He knew the man had bedded his sister. Which didn’t sit well with him either. “He’s the one who gave you that scar, isn’t he?” Rachele asked, her gaze having slid down the man’s face to the red, puffy gash across his neck and collarbone.

- 240 -

The Third Kiss Dorian nodded. Then he turned his attention to Paxton, who had been finding it hard to sit still beneath the weight of his gaze ever since he’d first leveled it on her in Emma’s room. “You can read minds.” She nodded. “Even vampire minds.” She nodded, but then sat up, cocking her head to one side. “Actually, I don’t know. You’re the first one I’ve ever tried to read. And, once you realized what I was doing, I couldn’t get in any more.” She blinked, clearly working something out in her head. “I think I could only read you because you were so upset. Strong emotions make people’s mental defenses weaker. It’s so easy to read a human’s mind when they’re pissed off or drunk or turned on or –” She broke off suddenly, as if realizing that she may be saying more than was necessary. Dorian regarded her carefully. She squirmed a little. “Can you locate someone based on their thought patterns?” She blinked again. Comprehension dawned in her features and she chewed on the inside of her cheek, considering the idea. “I might be able to find her. But I’ve never read her thoughts before, never felt her mind, so I wouldn’t recognize her enough to pin point her location based on her thoughts alone. What would tip me off to her position would be either a large quantity of very alert minds surrounding her, or one incredibly powerful mind that just buzzes loudly at me – a full vampire.” Dorian took a deep breath. He couldn’t hide his disappointment. “The problem is she’ll most likely be surrounded by many full vampires. Not one. And they will all seem powerful to you.” She fell silent, and he allowed her to pull her eyes away from his. If she felt more comfortable and able to think when she wasn’t looking at him, then he would certainly let her do - 241 -

Heather Killough-Walden so. He’d brought them along because he’d been hoping that their abilities would prove useful this night. He prayed that his judgment was sound. He turned and glanced out the window of the plane. Night had fallen. They were nearly in D.C., but Emma was sure to have arrived hours ago. Had they yet made it to Voronoi’s estate? Had she met Aleksei? His gut clenched and his heart skipped a beat. He closed his eyes. Breathe… He was still fatigued from lack of sleep and the drugs in his system, and the emotions racing through him were wreaking havoc on what strength he’d managed to pool together. “He’ll probably introduce himself to her first, for what it’s worth.” He glanced away from the windows. Rachele was staring at him, an empathetic look on her youthful face. “If he knows what he’s doing,” she continued, “he’ll know she’s scared. He won’t want to jump right in and make her fear him forever by giving her the third kiss on the spot.” She spoke softly, calmly. She was trying to bring him some sense of comfort. Why? She didn’t even know him. He was a vampire, for crying out loud. Shouldn’t she be afraid of him? Shouldn’t she be more on guard? “So, that buys us some time,” she shrugged. He stared at her, and she gave him a wry smile and turned away to gaze, once again, out the darkened windows, at the lights below. He had to admit, he was grateful for her attempts. All in all, what she said made a lot of sense. Dorian knew the Russian vampire king to be a skilled warrior in battle, a brilliant strategist, and a man of few unnecessary words. He said and did only what needed to be said and done and, when it came to the matter of conquest, his aptitude was daunting. He had attacked Julien on a - 242 -

The Third Kiss number of fronts, both political and tangible, and cost Julien some of his most devoted vampire subordinates. Dorian, for one, had been pleased to see them go, but he’d always wondered whether Aleksei had performed those particular feats solely to rid the earth of such scum or to further his own ultimate plan. If it was the latter, what was that plan? Whatever it was, it was too complicated for Dorian to follow. At the moment, he would much rather choose to believe that it had been for the former reason. Because that would make Aleksei Voronoi not only a very old, very powerful vampire; it would make him a good one. And right now, for Emma’s sake, Dorian desperately needed to believe that the Russian had a thread of decency to him. He cut his gaze to the younger Bennet, where the man sat in the next row, watching him. Their eyes met and held. “How much power have you got left, mage?” he asked the young man. He wanted to know how much help he could count on, when things started to go down. “Wizard, not mage. This isn’t Dungeons and Dragons.” Dorian smiled, despite himself. The kid had spunk. “I could be wrong, of course, as I haven’t had occasion to acquaint myself with the game for thirty years, but aren’t there wizards in Dungeons and Dragons, as well?” He was teasing Bennet. He found it made his spirits rise. The blonde man gazed at him and bit the inside of his cheek. He wisely chose not to be baited, instead saying, “I’ve got a few spells. On the control front, I can probably deal with four, maybe five people. If they’re all vampires, then just one or two. You have very strong minds.” Dorian’s brow rose. He was impressed. He’d managed to piss the lad off, but Bennet was still man enough to admit, to Dorian’s face, that vampires were of a higher caliber than humans. Thus far, Bennet was, in every way possible, not his uncle. - 243 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Is Bennet your first and last name?” Dorian wasn’t entirely joking. Some people were like that. Wizards and witches were strange with names. “Just the last.” “What is your first name?” “Names have power, vampire. I’ll keep mine to myself, thank you.” Now Dorian did laugh. He couldn’t help it. He was still chuckling softly when he said, “If I wanted to use your name to cause you harm, Bennet, I would just steal it from your mind. And to that end, if I wanted to cause you any harm at all, I simply would. I need no magic to do so.” Patrick, Sam, and the girls watched the two in silence. Dorian wondered if any of them were as amused as he was. Probably not. He’d been baiting Bennet the entire flight, taking some amount of pleasure in causing the young man’s temper to flare. He supposed he should probably stop. After all, Bennet may be a wizard, not a warlock, but something always turned the good to evil. He didn’t want to be that something. Bennet, as a warlock, would be formidable, indeed. He wagered, more so, even, than his uncle. And he needed the man’s cooperation tonight. So, he nodded his concession, at last, and said, “Bennet, it is.” The young wizard watched him in silence, the two of them locking eyes for nearly a minute. And then Bennet shifted in his seat and cocked his head to one side. “Did you destroy the pendant that Tristan took from Julian Adalard?” Dorian stiffened. That pendant was one of the reasons he’d been giving Bennet a hard time. He just wasn’t all that fond of men who used magic. “No,” he said simply. “Do you still have it?” Bennet asked. “Yes.” - 244 -

The Third Kiss Bennet nodded slowly. “I see.” He paused, as if to consider very carefully how to phrase what he was going to say next. “Julien expended a good amount of his own magical energy creating the pendant. Wizards, witches and warlocks can drain magical energy from created items and use it as their own.” Dorian just stared at him. He knew where Bennet was headed with this and there was no way in hell he was going to give the man what he wanted. “If you give the pendant to me, I can transfer from it a lot of power, and I’ll be able to do a lot more damage once we reach Voronoi’s estate.” Dorian said nothing. He merely gazed at the young man and shook his head. Once. “Mr. Bergeron, we’re coming in for a landing.” The pilot’s voice sounded over the intercom. Dorian glanced up, and then glanced at each of his companions, in turn. Bennet had let the subject drop. The two girls were buckling their seat belts. The men remained still. Why was it that only the women seemed to care about such safety measures? Dorian suspected it had something to do with the men’s need to appear tough in front of him. He smiled and pulled his seat belt across his lap, and then laced his fingers over his chest, and leaned back in his chair. He watched them with an amused ice-blue gaze from beneath halfclosed lids as they began to fidget nervously. Finally, Patrick pulled on his seat belt, and the other two followed suit. Dorian grinned, fangs showing. Hunger was making him mean. “When was the last time you fed?” He cut his gaze to Rachele again. The woman was astute, in the extreme. Blood would go a long way toward giving him the strength and power he would need to defeat Voronoi’s men – and Voronoi, himself. - 245 -

Heather Killough-Walden He didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to. She nodded, knowingly. “You can have some of mine,” she offered, hesitantly. “Absolutely not,” Bennet objected, leaning forward in his seat. His muscles were tensed for a fight, and his eyes were skirting from Rachele to Dorian and back again. Dorian looked back at Rachele. The girl was brave, he’d give her that. Especially considering that the last woman he’d drunk from had almost died as a result. Emma… Suddenly, the thought of drinking from any other woman did not appeal to him at all. It felt lonely, empty, and hollow. He wanted to feel Emma arch up against him when he took her blood. He wanted to hold her down and drive himself into her, to drink deep and hear her moan in his ear, feel her shudder beneath him. He wanted Emma so badly that he could still taste her on his tongue, feel her moistness wrapped tight around his –” He broke off when he realized that Rachele’s eyes were wide with something like fear. He glanced down to find that he’d gripped the leather arm rests of his seat so tight that his nails had cut crescents into the material. He gazed down at his hands and willed himself to calm down. He tried to think of anything but Emma. Baseball, Harleys, ripping Julien Adalard’s head off… He took a deep, cleansing breath and slowly shook his head. “There’s no need,” he said. “I will feed when we land. I need you to have all of your strength when we get to Voronoi’s estate. There’s no telling what you may have to do.” Rachele’s unease visibly lessened. She nodded, once, and looked out the window again. He considered grazing her mind to see what she was thinking. Did she somehow know what had been going through his head?

- 246 -

The Third Kiss On impulse, he cut his gaze to Paxton, who was watching him with a slightly bemused and somewhat embarrassed look on her face. That one knew. She was right. His mental walls came down when he was aroused, as well as when he was angry. He would need to be more careful from now on. In the next moment, they all felt and heard the landing gear drop down, and everyone was looking out the windows. The landing strip was owned by Adalard Enterprises and they were the first ones to use it that night, which meant that Tristan had used Voronoi’s strip, as well as one of the Russian’s jets, to bring Emma in. They touched down and came to a halt. The landing was smooth. Julien’s empire employed the very best at everything. Once the plane came to a full stop and the exit hatch was opened, Dorian led the way down the steps and onto the black top. There were five vehicles waiting for them; four motorcycles and a black Porsche. The party stopped and gazed from one vehicle to the next. “What the hell’s going on, Dorian?” Sam asked, and they all looked at the vampire. He stopped and turned to face them. “I have to get to Voronoi’s estate in record time. I can’t wait for a car that basically has to follow the speed limits and… well, other vehicular laws.” He was thinking that a bike could go a lot more places and around a lot more things than any kind of car could. “So, I’m giving the five of you two options.” “We can either ride a bike or take the Porsche and catch up to you,” Rachele filled in for him. Dorian nodded.

- 247 -

Heather Killough-Walden “Bennet can ride,” Paxton spoke up. Bennet glanced at her and Dorian could have sworn that the man came close to blushing. She continued, smiling a little now. “He has his own Big Twin at home. It’s what he rides to class.” Dorian’s brow shot up. Bennet refused to meet his gaze. So the wizard was a Rub. What do you know. Dorian would never admit as much to the young man, but the vampire liked him more and more with each passing minute. “Fine, one of you can ride with him.” “We can ride,” Patrick said then, and Dorian turned his gaze on him. Of course Patrick could. He was Emma’s brother. They came from the same stock. Lucky for him, their parents’ death didn’t seem to have affected him in quite the same manner as it had Emma. And Dorian figured that Sam knew how to ride, out of association. “Good, that’s all we need.” He turned away from them and made his way to the first of the four motorcycles, one that appeared completely stripped down and naked compared to the other three. “There’s no way we can keep up with your hooligan, vampire.” Bennet was mounting another of the motorcycles, Paxton climbing on behind him. But his eyes were on Dorian and Dorian’s stripped-down bike. Dorian mounted up, the movements so natural by now that they flowed with fluid grace. “Do the best you can, wizard. Like I said, I have to get there fast.” He started the engine and twisted the throttle. In record time, the others had mounted their bikes. Rachele rode with Patrick, and Sam mounted up alone. Dorian nodded at them as the air strip was filled with the cacophonous din of rumbling engines. They nodded back and he tore out of the lot. **** - 248 -

The Third Kiss Julien opened his eyes to the knowledge that something was very, very wrong. He sat up in the coffin and listened. The room was dark and quiet. He climbed over the casket’s ledge and strode to the door. And then he stopped, frozen in place. He brought his hand to his neck. The pendant was gone. “Dorian!” He bellowed into the waiting night, running, at blurred speed, through the door, down the corridors, and eventually outside. He flew to the mansion, knowing, instinctively, that he would find Emma gone. Tristan had taken her. The vampire had betrayed his king. The pendant had been Tristan’s parting gift to Dorian. Julien knew the two had always been close. And now Tristan was most likely in Washington, D.C., 750 miles away, handing Emma over to Aleksei Voronoi. At least she’d only received the first of the three kisses. He wouldn’t get there in time to stop the Russian king from giving her the second. His gaze darkened. Emma was his queen. His queen. There would be war for this. He would have Voronoi’s head. He made it to his estate grounds and flew over the gate, landing on the front steps and then instantly breaking into another run. He moved like a shadow, a ghost of blackness, from head to toe, his raven hair blending in with his sable clothes, as he blurred with inhuman speed, until he reached the third floor. He found the door broken, hanging on his hinges, and his eyes went from blue to red. He blurred back into motion, heading for the surveillance room downstairs. Along the way, he stepped over the unconscious bodies of several of his guards. He paid them no heed, already well aware that foul play had run amok in his home. - 249 -

Heather Killough-Walden He entered the room and headed directly to the video feed, but found the machine empty. Tristan. Without missing a beat, he blurred once more, heading back upstairs to Emma’s room. Once there, he entered slowly and deliberately, allowing his senses to fan out. He began to chant, and the unnatural sound filled the air, made it thick and hot. He moved his hands in a web of intricate and complex gestures, and the room began to spin around him. He kept it up, a pillar of dark and powerful calm in the center of a room that spun faster and faster, until it became nothing but a mass of different-colored lines, forming a circle around his solitary form. He ended the incantation and the room began to slow. Finally, it stopped and Julien was not alone any longer. He stood stock-still, his red glowing eyes glued to the sight of his brother making love to Emma on the bed. He watched, his face a stony mask, as Dorian’s teeth sank into her neck and she cried out in ecstasy beneath him. They came together, their bodies slick with sweat, Dorian’s hands gripping her tight, his teeth still sunk deep in her throat. And then Emma’s breathing became shallow. Julien’s fangs lengthened. Dorian spoke to her, softly, tenderly. She did not answer. He rose up and looked down at her. He called her name again, and she didn’t move. He grabbed her by the chin, called her name. When she still did not respond, he used his fangs to rip a gash in his own wrist and then pressed the wound to Emma’s mouth. Dorian was silent, but Julien knew he was in her head, commanding her to drink. Eventually, she did, coughing as the warm liquid gagged her and then revived her. She opened her eyes. Her body was completely healed. He lay down beside her and covered them both with a blanket.

- 250 -

The Third Kiss And then Emma turned in his grasp and faced him. Julien watched and listened as they spoke to one another. They were talking about him. Dorian joked that his brother would lock him in the dungeons for a month. Emma had gone still in Dorian’s grasp. Julien smiled dryly, despite himself. She was upset. She rose from the bed, stole into the closet, and then took her clothes to the bathroom. Dorian watched her, frustrated, worried. Julien’s eyes continued to burn red. Then she was out of the bathroom, fully dressed and confronting Dorian. In the next instant, he had her up against the wall by the throat. Julien growled low, fire leaping to life within his gaze. And then the door behind him splintered open. Julien turned to watch Tristan and his men invade the room. They dealt with Dorian first, and quickly. Tristan was smart. As Dorian fell, they took Emma. Julien forced himself to stay where he was, to listen and watch, and glean the information he needed. Then, as the spell ended, he spun around and once again blurred into motion.

- 251 -

Heather Killough-Walden

Chapter Thirteen The limousine pulled smoothly into the massive circular drive of the manor house, and thanks to the two glasses of wine she’d downed, Emma did not immediately try to open the door and run away. She’d refused any of the food that Tristan had suggested she eat, knowing it would only absorb the alcohol. And at the moment, she wanted to be as numb as possible. As the car came around, Emma counted the men in suits. What was it with vampires and their guards and the goddamned Armani suits? Giorgio was making a fortune off of the bloodsucking undead. She counted no fewer than thirteen, all ginormous, as if they’d been bottle fed milk and steroids when they were infants. She plopped back against the seat and cut her gaze to Tristan. He was watching her intently, a slight smile on his lips. He looked amused. “Shut up.” He chuckled softly. “Come to think of it,” he said, his tone much more relaxed than it had been earlier. “I’m glad that you had the wine and not the food.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “I’ll just bet you are.” The door opened and a man offered his hand to Emma. He was so tall that she could only see up to his chest before the roof of the limo cut in. She looked down at the offered hand, hesitating a moment. But then she took a deep breath and breathed it out in a sigh, placing her hand in his. When he pulled her out, she looked up at him. Wow, she thought, going instantly weak in the knees. He is H-O-T, hot.

- 252 -

The Third Kiss Oh, jeez, you are so caked, babe. Two glasses of wine – really good wine – and you’re frickin’ flying. Get a hold of yourself. Quit drooling over the vampire help. The man threw his head back and laughed, a deep rumbling, wonderful sound that wrapped around her and brought her nerve endings to delicious life. She gazed up at him in wonder. He had the most incredible bone structure, strong and perfectly sculpted. His hair fell in long, thick, full waves of chestnut brown, well past his shoulders. His eyes were a vivid light green at least three shades lighter than Tristan’s. They were mesmerizing and hypnotic to the point of being difficult to look at. She swallowed when he used them to peer down at her. She swayed a little on her feet, and his hands very quickly, very gently steadied her. “I trust your trip was pleasant, Miss Nekoda,” he said then. His voice was like his laugh, deep and rumbling and sexy as hell. He sounded like a Harley. He could talk a woman’s clothes off with that voice. “Um… Yeah. It was fine,” she said softly, still gazing up at him. His smile was sincere and beautiful and flashed perfect, straight white teeth. “I’m glad.” He offered her his elbow, just as Tristan had done the night before. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you inside.” She hesitated, then, memories making her apprehensive. But he smelled good, like really expensive cologne and fresh air in the mountains during the winter, and the wine was buzzing hard through her blood stream, and she couldn’t just stand there forever. So, she laced her arm through his, and he gently pulled her away from the car door. Tristan rose from the car’s interior and stood. Emma turned to look up at him. His expression was difficult to read. It was one of secrets. He looked from her to the man whose arm she held.

- 253 -

Heather Killough-Walden The man was watching Tristan, and the expression on his beautiful face was just as enigmatic. “You have fulfilled your part of the bargain, Tristan,” he said, his perfect, magical voice sending a shiver of pleasure through her. He cut his jade-green gaze to her. He smiled an amused, pleased smile. Then he turned back to Tristan. “Therefore, I accept your servitude, and hence, release you from it forever.” Emma’s eyes widened. Tristan’s began to glow. They went from green to orange to red, and then back again. A wind picked up around them all and whipped through Emma’s long ponytail. The clouds began to cover the moon, moving in at an unnaturally swift pace. Emma’s pulse started to race. She looked up at the man beside her and knew, now, who he was. He was Aleksei Voronoi, the Russian vampire king. But an ominous rumbling in the sky above her drew her attention away from him. Aleksei took a step back, pulling her gently behind him. The clouds piled up overhead until a massive thunderhead formed. Emma’s breaths were coming fast now. There was dark, powerful magic stirring. She thought of demons, of Cthulhu, of tornadoes. Then Aleksei spun and placed his hands over her ears, shielding her eyes with his body as lightning struck Tristan where he stood. Emma would have been thrown back by the force of the blast, if Aleksei had not shielded her. A second later, he released her and she instantly moved to his side, her gaze frenetically searching for Tristan. He was kneeling where he’d been standing a moment before, looking drained, but alive. Not burned to a crisp, as she’d expected.

- 254 -

The Third Kiss The sky opened up, then, and it began to rain. As the fat droplets of water touched down on the kneeling man, Tristan Montague began to cry. Emma could hear him from where she stood. A five-hundred-year old vampire – weeping. And as she watched and listened, she was stunned to find that she could actually feel his relief. His desperate joy. It was such a stirring thing to witness, that her chest tightened. She felt a hand on her back and, after a moment, was able to draw her attention away from Tristan’s trembling form to look up at Lord Voronoi. He gazed down at her for a long, quiet moment. Rain had soaked everyone in the parking lot, and it now fell into her eyes. She swiped at it with shaking hands. Aleksei pulled off his jacket and gently draped it over her small form. He was so big that she swam in it, but welcomed it anyway. It smelled good and it was warm. She put her arms through the sleeves and hugged it tightly around herself. Wordlessly, he gestured to the stairs of the giant manor house. She looked at the entrance, with its warm light beckoning from beyond, and began to climb the steps, the vampire king right beside her. **** Dorian raced at break-neck speed through the Northwest quadrant of Washington D.C. He took Connecticut Avenue into Georgetown, disobeying the law in a skilled, methodical manner the entire way. He didn’t have the time to look over his shoulder and determine whether the others had managed to keep up. He doubted that they had, anyway. He was fast. And any time he passed a cop in a cherry top, he used his mind to steer the man or woman’s attention elsewhere. Patrick and Rachele and her crew would not have such options.

- 255 -

Heather Killough-Walden Once he was in Georgetown, he sped onto Key Bridge to cross the Potomac, carving the road around curves, refusing to slow down. The sun had been set for more than an hour. And all he could think about was getting to Emma before Aleksei did. A fierce need to protect, to claim, drove him relentlessly. He pushed the bike to its limit, almost feeling bad for the abuse. Once he crossed the bridge, he hopped on 66 and took it all the way into Falls Church. There, he pulled off, taking Roosevelt to Hwy 50, crossing under it, and hopping onto Sleepy Hollow Road. The Voronoi manor was in Marlo Heights. He was close. His gums ached. He hungered for blood, on so many levels. He was about three hundred meters from where he knew he would find Emma when the road took on a sleek, glistening look. He slowed down. It must have just stormed, because the clouds still roiled, thick and heavy, above him. He chanced a good long look, and realized that their formation wasn’t natural. Something had happened at Voronoi’s estate. It took a lot of control not to speed up again. He wanted to be there so badly that his claws had lengthened, and his vision was changing. And then, finally, he was pulling off into a park across from the private drive that led to Aleksei’s manor. He pulled the bike up under a gazebo and kicked down the stand. Then he was immediately in the air, cold moisture forming on his leather jacket and dampening his long blonde locks. He flew over the vast estate lands of the Russian vampire, counting the plethora of guards that fortified the property. They were out in full-force tonight, and armed to the teeth. Vampires, in and of themselves, were deadly. But add bulk and bullets to a vampire, and he naturally gained a formidable edge. - 256 -

The Third Kiss Dorian blew out a breath of frustration and hovered in place, waiting for a moment to strike. He figured they would be watching the skies for danger, and whatever the ominous reason for its existence, he was glad, at that moment, to have the massive cloud cover that the unnatural storm head provided. **** Emma stepped out of the steaming shower and dried off with the thick, plush towel that had been provided for her. The water’s heat had melted the chill that the storm had soaked into her, and though she’d taken only a few short minutes to soap up and rinse off, the shower had given her ample time to think. Aleksei Voronoi hadn’t bitten her yet. He’d been nothing but kind to her, as a matter of fact. He’d taken her inside and immediately ordered the staff to show her to her quarters so that she could shower and change. Then, as she’d been taken by the hand by a middle-aged woman with dark hair, light eyes, and a warm smile, she’d heard Aleksei behind her, ordering that the kitchens prepare her a warm drink and send someone to run it up when it was ready. She hadn’t expected this. She’d prepared herself for torment, for torture, for pain, for unbearable pleasure, and even for nothing but an immediate bite and some horrible kind of change. But she hadn’t prepared for kindness. It was throwing her. Nonetheless, she’d made a decision while in the shower, and she intended to stick to said decision, unexpected kindness from her captors or not. She quickly wrapped the towel around her and stepped out into the large room beyond. The style of décor in Voronoi’s manor was entirely different from the Louisiana approach. It was more Victorian than antebellum, and incredibly elegant. It reminded her of tea time and crumpets and gazebos with gauzy ribbons tied around the posts. She half expected to see someone walk - 257 -

Heather Killough-Walden through the door in a camisole and bustle, carrying a tray of sterling silver tea ware with sugar cubes and cream. Emma could smell the heated aroma of alcohol and her eyes skirted the desk and table tops until she found the steaming mug of what she assumed was Spanish coffee resting on the bedside table against one wall. She was just beginning to get a bit of a headache from the nitrates in the wine she’d downed in the limousine. The coffee would go a long way toward alleviating that discomfort. And she would be able to think more clearly when she desperately needed to do so. She moved toward the cup and then she caught sight of something on the bed. Atop it lay a small brown paper package. It had no address on it; no writing, whatsoever. Still, somehow, she knew it was for her. She stood still beside the bed, pondering the small brown box. Then she lifted the coffee and took a sip. She didn’t bother wondering whether it was poisoned or drugged or something similar. If Voronoi had wanted her drugged or poisoned, she would have found herself in that state a long time ago. The coffee was delicious. It burned all the way down her throat, warming her from the inside out, honing in on her headache almost instantly. She eyed the box warily. Voronoi may have been kind to her, on the surface, up until this point. But he was still a vampire king. And he had still kidnapped her and dragged her away from Julien’s mansion. From Dorian’s arms. And Emma had no desire to wait around and see whether Voronoi’s benevolence would wane as the night wore thin. The package could sit there unopened, for all she cared. She wasn’t going to be baited into wasting any more time. She took another big sip of the wonderful hot coffee and then strode across the room to the door of the closet and walked inside.

- 258 -

The Third Kiss She stopped in her tracks. Instead of the gigantic closet filled to the brim with dress upon dress and pants and shirts and jackets and coats and sweaters and shoes from every designer in New York and California, she instead found it occupied by a single rack of clothing. It was extremely modest compared to what Julien had provided in Baton Rouge. She moved to the rack and browsed through the dozen or so items that hung on hangers. There were four t-shirts, two sweaters, three pairs of jeans, each a different wash, a pair of lowcut cords, a zip-front hooded sweat shirt, two riding jackets, and a hanger draped with hair-ties and ribbons. Beneath the rack were two pairs of riding boots, a pair of running shoes, and a bin filled with Victoria Secret undergarments and new white tube socks. Emma didn’t know what to think of this. On the one hand, it was refreshing not to be overwhelmed by the reality that the person who had kidnapped her intended her to remain with him forever. A closet filled with every kind of clothing a person would ever need for any function at any time in their lives went a long way toward reinforcing the notion that they were not going to be allowed to leave. Ever. Aleksei had not done that. However, Emma didn’t know why. And there was the matter of the riding boots and jackets. Why had they been placed here? Before Emma had met Dorian, she hadn’t been on a bike in sixteen years. What did Voronoi mean by this? Emma took a deep breath and shook her head. No time to waste pondering it at the moment. She let the towel drop and began pulling items of clothing from their hangers. At least everything was in her size. She hastily put on a pair of panties, a bra – size 34 A; she wasn’t a big girl – a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, and a pair of socks. Then she sat down and pulled on a pair of black riding boots. They were leather, as it was nearly impossible to purchase non-leather - 259 -

Heather Killough-Walden riding boots within the U.S., but they were comfortable and sturdy and, for what Emma planned on attempting tonight, their gripping tread and protective nature might come in handy. She stood and left the closet, returning to the bathroom. She picked up her rain-damp clothes from the floor and headed back into the wardrobe. She pulled the shirt and pants over the hangers that she had just emptied and re-arranged them amongst the other articles of clothing so that it didn’t appear as if anything had been removed. Then she returned to the bathroom once more. She strode across the tiled floor, leaned into the shower stall, and turned the water back on as hot as it would go. Then she straightened and closed the curtain. On any normal day in the normal course of her comparatively boring existence, she would have worried about the waste. Water was a precious commodity, and the planet was running out of it lickety-split. However, tonight, she barely gave it a second thought. She then crossed the bathroom to the door and pressed the button in the center of the inside knob that locked the door. She stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her, then wiggled the knob. It was locked. She gave a small nod of satisfaction and headed back across the room toward the door on the opposite end. As she did, she passed the bed. The small brown package that sat in the center of the gorgeous bedspread caught her eye again. It beckoned to her. She stopped and stared at it for a few seconds. She was wasting time, and knew it. But her fingers itched to open it. It was ridiculous, this overwhelming curiosity she felt. Why did she care? Yet, when she turned away from the bed and hurried across the room, it was only to find herself pausing a few feet from the door, and turning to look at the package once more. She sighed. “Good grief,” she muttered under her breath. She felt like she was stuck in a Monty Python movie. The package may as well have a big red flashing sign above it that said “Open Me”.

- 260 -

The Third Kiss She needed to concentrate on getting out of Voronoi’s manor, but she couldn’t get the package out of her mind. For some ungodly reason, she absolutely needed to open it and see what was inside. It drew her to it, as surely as if it had thrown a rope around her and was pulling her in. She sighed again and moved back to the bed. She paused, for just a moment, before finally reaching out and picking up the small paper-wrapped box. She shook it. It sounded as if it were something solid, buffeted by something soft. She put it to her ear. It wasn’t ticking. Of course. She rolled her eyes. And then she caught a subtle waft of some strange but familiar scent. She placed the package to her nose. It smelled a little like Frankincense and myrrh; like the inside of a church. It reminded her of her home in Lubbock. She’d never been able to fully eliminate the lingering scent of the priest’s censer from the wood and brick walls of the renovated chapel. Emma took a deep breath and held the package in front of her. She couldn’t wait any longer. She ripped through the brown paper and left the remnants of the packaging on the floor. Then she studied the small wooden box in her hands. It had a pull-off top with a looped rope made of rough twine. She put her forefinger through the loop and pulled the lid off of the box. **** “You all know what to do.” The vampires around Aleksei Voronoi nodded in unison. There were roughly three dozen men packed into the large drawing room. All were dressed in black, from head to boot, and wore what appeared to be flak jackets over their long-sleeved shirts. “It is only unfortunate that Skorikov and his men could not be here tonight,” one of the vampires muttered, shaking his head where he sat opposite Aleksei at a large desk in one corner.

- 261 -

Heather Killough-Walden He was very tall, though not anywhere near as tall as Aleksei, and well built. His hair was a light strawberry blonde, long, and was tied back with a leather strap at the nape of his neck. “Indeed, Posnik. However, Einar needs him at the moment. As I told Dmitri,” Aleksei said, with a nod toward the single human in the room, who was standing at the rear doors, “the timing is regrettable, but it could not be helped.” Aleksei stood then and approached the windows that spanned one long wall. The dark outside was absolute. The clouds that remained from the night’s earlier storm had not fully dissipated. The moon hid behind them, plunging the night into a sable black that the lights from Voronoi’s street and garden lamps barely pierced. Aleksei turned back to the others. “We’re expecting some treacherous company this night, gentlemen. It is not our way to praise ourselves while going into battle. We will praise ourselves coming out of it. You have all served me loyally, and for that I am eternally grateful. I consider myself fortunate to fight beside you. Udachi.” The men in the room bowed their heads solemnly, and then lifted them again. As they did, their eyes began to glow. And then they turned, almost as one, and began filing out through the two large doors behind them. **** Emma’s eyes widened. The necklace inside looked like something that Cartier would attempt, and fail to, reproduce. The chain of the pendant looked to be strands of pure silver, woven in braid-like knots around beads made from crystals and other colorful stones. But it was the centerpiece of the pendant that made Emma’s breath catch. It was carved from a single solid piece of lapis lazuli. It was real lapis lazuli, not the artificially colored jasper that so many jewelry smiths successfully passed off as lapis. It was real, it was thick, and it was solid blue, unmarred by the flecks of pyrite or white calcite that so often accompanied lazuli. - 262 -

The Third Kiss Emma was in awe of the piece. She knew from taking certain mysticism classes while earning her degree in religious studies that lapis lazuli was revered by many cultures as a highly potent magical stone. The Egyptians buried lapis lazuli with their dead to protect and guide the deceased in the afterlife. Some cultures have long believed that lapis would cure sore throats, fevers, and even sexual impotency. Many people today trusted it to increase psychic powers, stave off depression, and clarify the mind. The symbol that the lapis was carved into was archaic and complex. It consisted of what appeared to be a wavy-lined sun, several stars, and the faintest sliver of a waning moon. Emma peered at it more closely and found that at the center, there was what looked like a small stylized hand, palm-out. Upon the hand were several other symbols that she did not recognize. It looks ancient, she thought. Intricate. Powerful. A square of sandy-colored paper sat folded beneath the medallion. She reached into the box and pulled the necklace out of its red cushioned interior. As soon as her fingers closed over the pendant, they began to tingle. She gasped and dropped the pendant on the bed. She stared at it. It seemed to stare back at her. And she knew, without a doubt, that she’d crossed some sort of line. The necklace did, indeed, possess some sort of power. Mechanically, she pulled the paper from the box, unfolded it, and read. To the marked queen. To protect against the dand of the doshman. Emma gazed down at the slip of paper for a long time. For too long. She didn’t have leisure to wonder whether the note referred to her or not. She already knew, deep down, that it did. Dorian had told her that Nekoda meant “marked”. She also didn’t know what the hell a dand or a

- 263 -

Heather Killough-Walden doshman was, but she was pretty sure that continuing to stare at the scrawled words wouldn’t bring those answers to her. She dropped the note on the bed and bent to once again pick up the amulet. This time, she was prepared when it tingled slightly in her hands. After a few seconds, the tingling sensation subsided, and the lapis lazuli pendant simply shone at her, polished and beautiful. She draped it over her décolletage and clasped it closed behind her neck. Almost immediately, she felt better. She felt more confident, less frightened, more clear-headed. Hell, she even felt taller. She shook her head, bewildered. She’d never been a very superstitious person. What faith she’d had in the unseen and unknown had pretty much disappeared when she’d learned more about them in college. However, one lingering uncertainty had always bothered her. She’d always had a nagging wonder about her own innate sixth sense when it came to impending danger. Add to that the fact that in the past forty-eight hours, she’d learned first hand that vampires did, indeed, exist, and her staunch in-acceptance of the unknown began to weaken. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d watched as a man was struck by lightning and came through virtually unharmed, and now she wore a pendant that she was positive possessed honest-to-god protective powers. The tall, stone walls of her safe and real world were dissolving around her at an ever increasing pace. She wondered what the philosophy professors at LSU would think about all of this. And, at the same time, she knew that even if she were to survive this night, she would never be able to tell them. Emma took a deep, steadying breath and turned toward the door to the bedroom once more. Then, without wasting another second, she strode across the room and pressed her ear to the - 264 -

The Third Kiss wood. She hadn’t seen any guards when she’d been led to her room by the servants, and she was counting on their absence now. She heard nothing coming from the hall beyond. No footsteps, no talking, no fidgeting or clearing of throats. She straightened and considered for a moment. And then she turned the knob and the door swung open. The hallway was deserted. She let out a breath of relief and slowly stepped out into the hallway. She looked up, toward the crown molding around the top of the walls. No cameras. Her brow furrowed. Could this be right? Oddly, she felt almost as if she wasn’t a prisoner. Julien would have had a minimum of six guards posted in the hall; two at her door. Why was she being granted this much freedom? She hadn’t a clue, but she was going to take the opportunity and run with it. Literally. At a continued slow and cautious pace, she moved down the hall to her left, toward the railing at the top of the staircase that led down to the second floor. She moved on silent feet, using a skill she’d developed while sneaking up on animals during nature photography shoots. Her eyes skirted all around her with a fair amount of trepidation, as if at any moment, she expected a contingent of men to round the corner, grab her roughly, and throw her into a dungeon for daring to leave her rooms. But she made it to the top of the stairs without running into any watch dogs. And now she stared down the empty flight of marble steps. Aleksei Voronoi stood at the bottom, looking up at her. His light green eyes fairly glowed in his face, and once again, Emma was overcome with how handsome he was. At the same time, she swore internally at her misfortune. Any and all plans for possible escape instantly went up in smoke. As if he knew what she was thinking, he smiled a wry smile, flashing perfect white teeth. - 265 -

Heather Killough-Walden Aleksei’s presence was undeniable. Tristan must have been right. Voronoi must be a very old vampire indeed, and age must have something to do with beauty. Like fine wine, maybe? She didn’t know, but she knew that he was gorgeous, and he was looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, even in jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of boots. There was no jealousy or rage or menace in his light green gaze. He stared up at her in sheer wonder and appreciation. It made her blush furiously and hesitate on the top of the stairs. But his smile was easy and non-threatening. Thus far, he hadn’t tortured her, he hadn’t locked her up, and he hadn’t forced her to do anything but drink a cup of Spanish coffee that warmed her to her toes. And he hadn’t really forced her to do that so much as tempt her beyond all ability to control herself. So when he raised his arm in a welcome to descend the stairs and take his hand, she did so. She only hesitated a little. As she moved down the steps, she thought of Dorian and wondered whether he had killed Julien. And the moment she thought of him, trepidation leapt to life within her. She wondered whether he had woken up yet. And Julien? The sun had gone down more than an hour ago. Had Dorian confronted him? Julien… Emma’s stomach did a flip-flop. The amulet seemed to pulse against her flesh with warning energy. Sweat broke out on her brow, despite the cool temperature of the air in the mansion. In the periphery of her consciousness, she saw Aleksei beginning to ascend the stairs. She closed her eyes and her fingers gripped the railing hard. She didn’t want to admit it, because of what it would mean, but she felt at that moment, with absolute certainty, that Julien was still alive. And if he was still alive, then that meant Dorian had failed to kill him. And if Dorian had failed to kill him, then… - 266 -

The Third Kiss Her hearing seemed to dull, coming from far away, but she could make out the sounds of someone yelling, giving orders in a language she didn’t understand. Russian, she thought distractedly. It actually sounds kind of cool. And then everything went temporarily black. **** From where he hovered in the air, shadowed by the mist of cloud cover, Dorian’s gaze slid over the windows on the second and third floor of Aleksei’s manor house. The lights on the second floor were all off, revealing nothing behind the drawn curtains but darkness and mystery. On the third floor, every light was off, save one. The double-paned glass most likely belonged to windows of a bedroom, and that bedroom was probably connected to a suite. Dorian was willing to bet it was Emma’s suite. On the surface, vampires were very different from one another – different colored hair, different colored eyes, different hailing nations. However, deep down, they were much the same. Every vampire had a hoarding instinct; a desire to lock that which was important to him high up in a tower, where no one else could get to it. Dorian was betting that Aleksei had placed Emma on the third floor of his home, much as Julien had done in Baton Rouge. He was balanced on the brink of the waning thunder head. There was no cloud cover between him and the window to the lighted third-story room, and there were no tree branches to hide behind. If he made a dash for it, even blurred, he would be spotted. Plus, the windows were certain to be locked. Getting in would create noise and a mess that would give him away as surely as if he’d touched down in front of the guards and enthusiastically waved at them. A muscle ticked in Dorian’s jaw as frustration built in his system. He could feel Emma inside the house – actually feel her. He could almost smell the familiar scent of her shampoo and hear the wild thrumming of her heart beat. His body was so in tuned with hers because of his kiss - 267 -

Heather Killough-Walden that she felt like an extension of him that had been ripped off and spirited away as he lay unconscious and useless on the floor of Julien’s mansion. He gritted his teeth. And then an explosion rocked the ground a hundred feet below him, knocking most of the vampires off of their feet. Part of the brick wall surrounding the estate lands had been blown inward, sending rocks and brick debris flying in all directions. Almost immediately, fire sprang up at a different point just outside of Voronoi’s gates fifty yards away and instantly engulfed the trees on both sides of the wall. Thick, black smoke billowed from both blast points, obscuring everything behind and around them. Dorian watched as several of Aleksei’s men abandoned their posts and raced, in blurred form, toward the disturbances. As the initial din of the first explosion died down, the thunder of V-twin motorcycles could be heard through the crackling of quickly spreading flames and the hot, heavy roar of roiling smoke. Dorian was almost too shocked by the outburst to take advantage of the distraction that had been provided for him. Almost. In the next instant, he was blurring toward the lighted window on the third floor, and clenching his hand into a fist to break through the glass. A heart beat before he would have impacted with his target, he was jarred to a sudden and violent halt by a body slamming into his at an equally blurred speed. The air rushed from his lungs, stars swam in his tunneling vision, and he plummeted to the earth a hundred feet below. **** The explosion yanked Emma back into consciousness. She felt heavy and disoriented. Her senses were a jumbled mess. She couldn’t make heads or tails of what was happening until she - 268 -

The Third Kiss felt something firm but smooth beneath her and something cold and wet pressed to her forehead. She tried to open her eyes, and managed it on the second attempt. Aleksei was sitting beside her on a massive four-poster bed, and he was holding a damp cloth to her forehead. He gazed steadily down at her, watching her with an intensity that pulled her eyes to his and held them without effort. “Are you feeling any better?” He asked softly. Emma closed her eyes again and let the warmth of his voice pour over her. By the gods, the man has a sexy voice. It was wholly unnatural, entirely and utterly erotic. She opened them again and he was smiling that amused, pleased smile he’d shown her in the parking lot before Tristan’s liberation. “Yes,” she finally answered. “I’m glad,” he said and removed the cloth to place it in a silver wash bin on a nearby bed table. Then he turned his gaze back to hers. “I have something to tell you, Miss Nekoda, and I am praying that it does not cause you to hate me.” He spoke the words in such a calm and easy conversational manner, that she could only blink up at him. What did he mean? She already didn’t hate him. And if she didn’t hate him for having her kidnapped from her lover’s arms and flown across the country at the threat of a needle so that she could have her blood sucked out of her and become impregnated every nine months from now until eternity, then she doubted anything he was about to tell her could make her do so. Again, he laughed, this time a soft, resonant chuckle, and she could only lay there and appreciate the sound. “I’m glad that you don’t hate me, Miss Nekoda. That was certainly never my intention. However, what my intention was, as it turns out, has much less to do with you than you have been led to believe.” - 269 -

Heather Killough-Walden Now her brow furrowed and she pushed herself up. He graciously helped her. “What do you mean?” “I mean, little one, that I did not bring you here in order to make you my queen, though, after meeting you, I have to admit that I would not necessarily object to spending an eternity with you.” Emma froze where she sat, staring at him. What had he just said? He was lying to her now? She should have expected this. Things had been far too easy. He was playing with her. Now the torture would start, wouldn’t it? Son of a bitch… His eyes widened. “No, Emma, I do not lie,” he said quickly, gently gathering her hands up and holding them between his. “I am telling you the truth and, my God,” he continued, a look of horror crossing his beautiful features, “I swear I would certainly never torture a woman, much less a woman as precious as you!” Emma could only stare at him blankly. He took a deep, slow breath and released her hands to gently brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek. And then his gaze skirted to the pendant around her neck, and he smiled his gentle smile again. “The Roma gypsies were wise to grant their protection to you, Emma,” he said as he moved his hand away from her cheek toward the carved lapis lazuli that rested in the hollow of her throat. It pulsed against her skin, heated and heavy. His fingers lowered to within a millimeter of the precious stone, and halted there. “You are a beautiful woman, Emma Rose. You will make Dorian Adalard a fine queen. You will be the first, of hopefully many, and fate chose well to lay such a burden upon your capable shoulders.” He spoke softly, his voice faintly laced with the accent of his homeland. The sound

- 270 -

The Third Kiss seeped in past her muscles, subjugating her bloodstream and sending tremors of pleasure through her over-stimulated body. “The only one who could have stopped this fate from becoming so will die tonight, by my hands. That is why I have brought you here.” He looked up into her eyes again and Emma immediately found herself sinking into their glowing depths. Her knees went weak, and she was glad she was already sitting on the bed. “You mean Julien, don’t you?” She asked softly, somehow simply knowing she was right. He nodded, once. “You had me kidnapped because you knew his prophesied queen was the only thing he would leave the safety of his own ground for.” Again, Aleksei nodded, and his smile grew grim. Emma swallowed. “What did he do to you?” Aleksei’s green eyes glowed relentlessly. And then, in a voice far more subdued than it had been, he answered. “He destroyed someone very dear to me.” Emma stared up at him for several long, silent moments. Then he had mercy upon her and pulled his own gaze from hers, allowing her to look away. “The Roma have carried this charm with them for more than a thousand years. It is older than I am.” He said suddenly, his attention focused once more on the necklace around Emma’s neck. She glanced down at his hand, where it hovered above the lapis. “I believe it originated in Egypt, traveled through India, and finally found its way to the Boyash gypsy tribe of Romania . Its power is such that no being of evil may touch it.” She looked back up and held her breath. His gaze pinned her to the spot once more and everything else in the world melted away. All that existed were his eyes.

- 271 -

Heather Killough-Walden For an impossibly long fraction of a second, his fingers remained unmoving, a hair’s breadth above the blue polished stone. And then he lowered them onto its surface, and gently gathered the necklace into his hand. Emma’s breath released in a whoosh of air. “I mean you no harm, Emma. I can not tell you how sorry I am that you have had to go through this much suffering and fear. But I assure you, it ends tonight.” He released the necklace then, and straightened where he sat beside her. His attention was suddenly diverted. He cocked his head, listening to something she couldn’t hear. “The guest of honor has already arrived. I am needed elsewhere.” “The explosion.” Emma said, softly, remembering the sound that had awakened her. “It was Julien, wasn’t it.” Aleksei looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. Either way, however – he is here now.” Emma’s thoughts danced around the truths she’d just uncovered. Aleksei wasn’t going to bite her. He wasn’t going to force her to become his vampire baby-making machine. He had brought her here for another reason, entirely, and in fact, meant her no harm whatsoever. Furthermore, he was planning on killing Julien Adalard. Which meant several things. First and foremost, it meant that Julien was still alive and, apparently, was somewhere on Voronoi’s grounds right now. If Julien was still alive, then Dorian had not killed him. Did Aleksei know that Tristan had given Dorian the location of Julien’s resting place? The second thing it meant was that after tonight, one of three things would happen: She would be free of Julien Adalard’s tyranny and be allowed to remain a human; or she would be free of Julien Adalard and would become Dorian’s queen; or she would be dead.

- 272 -

The Third Kiss The third possibility chilled her to the core, but she realized that it was a very real prospect, should she fall into Julien’s hands once more this night. Because, if she did, and he tried to give her the third kiss, she was going to kill herself. The first possibility was satisfactory, but felt… empty, somehow. And she realized, with stark certainty, that it was the second scenario that Emma desired most of all. Even if it meant that she would never again see the sun, she wanted to be with Dorian. She wanted to be his, in every sense of the word. Emma took a deep, calming breath and rolled her shoulders back. The medallion around her neck still pulsed hot, but now she knew what danger it warned her of. Julien was nearby. Suddenly, the expression on Aleksei’s face changed. It became dark, dangerous. He stood, slowly, and she watched as his towering height only added to the sudden aura of menace that surrounded his indomitable form. “Tonight, it ends,” he said then, and, as if in a dream, he turned to face the wall of windows on the other side of the room. At once, they came crashing inward and millions of shards of glass went flying in all directions. Aleksei blurred, turning and bending over Emma to shield her from the deadly sharp spray. **** Dorian hit the ground hard enough that it would have killed a normal man. However, he merely bounced, rolled, and attempted to push himself back up, anger and a sense of urgency warring with the pain that wracked through his crumpled form. Blood seeped from his scalp and threatened his left eye, but he wiped at it impatiently, and regained his footing just as the vampire who’d attacked him landed in front of him and pinned him with a glowing red gaze.

- 273 -

Heather Killough-Walden Dorian blinked. He recognized the man before him. It was not one of Aleksei’s vampires who had taken him down. It was one of Julien’s. “Good evening, your highness. Long way from home this night, aren’t we?” The man smiled a malicious fang-filled grin and then blurred forward. Dorian braced himself for the attack, and was prepared this time when the vampire’s body slammed full-force into his, taking them both back a good twenty yards. In the air, Dorian spun, using all of his strength to pin his attacker by the neck. He allowed their continued momentum to crash them both into one of the walls of Aleksei’s mansion behind them, but because Dorian had spun, his opponent took the brunt of the impact. Dorian released the stunned vampire just long enough to pull one fist back and then shove it forward, plunging it claws-first into the man’s chest. He went in deep, wrapping his fingers around his opponent’s heart, and holding on tight as he then pulled his hand back out. He let the dead vampire fall to the ground at his feet and then dropped the man’s heart beside his fallen body. “Dorian, behind you!” Dorian spun around, arms up defensively, as another of Julien’s vampires attacked him from behind. With the honed skills of a two-hundred-year-old assassin, Dorian fought the man off and then took off his head. Blood splattered across his leather jacket and jeans just as another headless vampire body went sailing through the air in front of him. He turned to look in the direction from which it had come and found Aleksei’s men engaging Julien’s undead servants, and they had their hands full doing it. A few yards away, Rachele and her friends huddled together, weaving in-between the groups of struggling vampires, seemingly unseen to both armies. No one but Dorian paid them any attention as they quickly made their way to the front steps. It was as if they were invisible. - 274 -

The Third Kiss And Dorian realized, at once, that that was exactly what they were. Bennet must have cast a spell shielding them from everyone but Dorian. After Patrick momentarily slipped on a pool of vampire blood on the marble stairs and was righted by his companions, they stole, unheeded, into the mansion beyond. Dorian didn’t have the time to marvel at Bennet’s magical abilities because, at that moment, he heard a blurred vampire come up behind him, a split second before he would have impacted, and he lunged forward and turned in the air, side-stepping the vampire’s attack. They fought for several tense moments before Dorian managed to take out his heart as he had his first opponent’s. Dorian received several more injuries during the struggle, but his earlier feeding that night was providing him with ample strength to heal quickly from his wounds. He heard a crashing sound from up above and managed to shield his eyes with his forearms as shattered fragments of glass spilled down from the third floor of Voronoi’s mansion and rained onto the unsuspecting vampires below. Dorian uncovered his eyes a second later and watched as Julien Adalard and several other vampires flew through the broken windows of the mansion and into the space beyond. The space that Dorian knew held Emma Rose.

- 275 -

Heather Killough-Walden

Chapter Fourteen Not a single piece of glass landed anywhere near Emma, because Voronoi had taken it all in his back. As soon as the glass settled, things began to happen almost too quickly for her to follow. One second, she was seated on the bed, being shielded by Aleksei’s hulking form, and a split second later, he was whirling around and grabbing a vampire by the throat to pick him up and throw him across the room. The vampire hit the opposite wall with a terrible crash, and sailed clean through the plaster, into the room beyond. Two more vampires were suddenly flanking Voronoi, attacking him from both sides. Their claws raked out like blades and sliced across his flesh before he was able to use his own claws to cut, fast and deep, through one vampire’s throat, and then turn and shove them all the way through the other vampire’s chest. The first vampire gurgled horribly as his head wobbled forward and then toppled back off of his shoulders. The second vampire screamed in highpitched, animalistic pain as Voronoi’s hand then pulled back out of his chest cavity, holding his still-beating heart. Aleksei tossed the heart to the floor, shoved the vampire out of his way, and whirled to face the windows again, just as six more vampires flew in, and behind them, Julien Adalard. Emma had been staring, in shocked fascination, watching Aleksei tear through their attackers like so much tissue paper. She was stunned immobile, a large part of her not able to completely process what was happening. There was so much blood and death that her brain simply refused to acknowledge it all. It must have been a defense mechanism of sorts and it was lucky, because if she’d taken the time to fully realize the abyssal truth of the burgeoning mess around her, she most likely would have gone mad.

- 276 -

The Third Kiss Instead, she stared, unseeing, and unmoving. But when she saw Julien Adalard, something inside of her clicked into place. She stood, slowly, her eyes on his form, her mind focused on him and nothing else. She wondered if there was any place in the world where she would be safe from the clutches of that man. Julien stood on the window sill, appearing for all the world like the angel of death, from his sable hair to his blue glowing eyes to his dark garb. His gaze slid from Aleksei to Emma and settled there. He smiled. Emma whimpered. “Get out of here, Emma.” Aleksei told her, without looking at her. He couldn’t, as he was immediately ambushed by several more vampires. But Emma didn’t need to be told twice. She spun around and began to crawl across the bed as fast as she could. But it wasn’t fast enough. She screamed when she felt herself being lifted from the mattress by a pair of strong arms around her waist. The vampire moved at such a dizzying velocity, that the air was wrenched from her lungs with a whoosh and she doubled over as he blurred back to the windows and deposited her on the ground at Julien’s feet. She stared down at his boots and immediately tried to scramble back out of his reach. He blurred into motion, grabbing her by the throat and lifting her up. But then he hissed in pain and released her instantly, reeling back as the hand he’d used to grab her smoked where it was charred along his palm. He glared at her, holding his injured hand by the wrist, and then his gaze settled on the necklace at her throat. - 277 -

Heather Killough-Walden “I see,” he said, his tone that of Satan’s. “This is how we’ll play, then.” Emma screamed again as he reached forward once more and grabbed her by both wrists, pinning them behind her back. He pulled her body up against his, bringing her face close to his own. His eyes went from sapphire blue to hellish red. “You are mine, Emma. No one will take you from me. Do you understand?” He hissed the words across her lips, punctuating them with a painful twist of her arms that caused her to cry out. “Wrong.” Emma and Julien both turned to see Dorian standing near the windows, his large frame silhouetted by the moon that had finally come out from behind the clouds. His eyes blazed crimson and his fangs glistened, sharp and deadly, in the moonlight. Julien shoved Emma away from him as Dorian blurred forward. The two collided hard and fast and went spinning with combined momentum across the room. She fell back, stumbled to the floor, and then pushed herself up on her hands. Glass sliced into her palms, but she barely noticed. When the two vampires hit the opposite wall, Dorian had Julien by the throat and was squeezing hard. And then a vampire slammed into Dorian from the side, and he lost his grip on his brother’s throat as he was tackled to the floor. Emma shoved to her feet and raced toward him, not exactly knowing what she would do when she got there, but knowing that she needed to help him, wanted to touch him, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. But Julien got to her first. He just appeared, materializing in a space where there had been nothing a second before, and he snarled down at her.

- 278 -

The Third Kiss She glared up at him and then did something she’d desperately wanted to do all day. She hauled her fist back and punched him with every ounce of her strength and hatred. Julien clearly had not expected such a physical assault from her, though Dorian could have warned him, and he jerked backward with the impact, taking several stumbling steps away from Emma. Emma desperately used that tiny space of time to look around for a weapon. She didn’t find one, but she did find Aleksei, and he was standing over the body of the vampire he killed, and peering at her from across the room. Then he was blurring into motion, heading straight for her. But before he could reach her, another one of Julien’s lackeys popped into existence in front of him and swung a long metal pipe in an arc toward the blurring form. It impacted with terrible force and an even more terrible sound. Emma screamed, horrified and certain that the attack must have killed the Russian king. She took a step forward, meaning to get the vampire’s attention long enough to give Aleksei some kind of advantage, but Julien had her in his arms before she’d taken a second step. She screamed again as he whirled her around and blurred into motion, taking her with him. He slammed them both into the wall above the four-poster bed with brute force and, when he saw that it had the effect he was hoping for, he released her. She crumpled to the mattress, dazed nearly into unconsciousness. He landed on the bed beside her and dragged her body to him until she was lying beneath him, her head lolling to one side. The medallion was a problem. Where she’d gotten it, he wasn’t sure, but he readily recognized the gypsy magic behind its power. She was a resourceful woman, and was winning far too many powerful friends. If her success thus far was any indication, Julien knew that she would fight him, despite the fact that she was meant to be his queen.

- 279 -

Heather Killough-Walden Emma Rose Nekoda would always fight. He ran his hand over her glorious golden hair and then grasped it in his fist and bent to inhale her wonderful, clean scent. Yes, she would always fight him. And a part of him actually relished the thought. **** Dorian managed to throw the vampire off of him just long enough to sweep the room with his gaze. Vampires were everywhere, at least two score, sailing this way and that, in and out of the windows, through the door and out into the hall. It appeared to be nothing less than an all-out war of the undead. It was difficult to tell who was on Julien’s side and who served Aleksei, and Dorian’s heart slammed hard against his rib cage as he tried, desperately, to catch sight of Emma in this deadly mess. Finally, he saw a flash of gold and white whiz past and he tracked the movement relentlessly. Julien was blurring across the room with her. Dorian immediately moved forward to blur after him, but another vampire was suddenly before him, blocking his path. Dorian watched over the man’s shoulder as Julien crashed her into the wall, knocking her senseless, and then let her drop to the bed beneath them. Dorian lashed out immediately at the vampire between them, and fought with renewed vigor. He’d fed before going to see Emma earlier that day – and, of course, he’d had her blood, as well. It was enough to heal a few wounds, but not the number he was now sustaining. To make things worse, he hadn’t fed upon arriving in D.C., as he’d planned to do and had led Rachele and her friends to believe he would. The need to get to Voronoi’s manor had been driving him forward, not letting him stop, until he’d finally reached his goal.

- 280 -

The Third Kiss And now his hunger was beginning to show. His moves were slowing, ever so slightly, becoming the tiniest bit more sluggish than normal. It took him longer than he would have liked to kill the vampire and begin heading across the room once again. But just as he started across, two more of Julien’s men stopped him. They had obviously been instructed to stop him, to kill him, at all costs, and that was exactly what they were all attempting to do. Dread coursed through Dorian. Julien had a lot of vampires at his disposal, and it seemed he planned to use them all this night. With each fight he faced, he became a little more injured and weak. The constant barrage of Julien’s men was wearing him down. He would throw one off, tear off a head, rip out a heart, only to stand back up and get slammed into by another one. This time, as they attacked him, the three of them sailed backward and went through the wall, plaster and siding flying everywhere. They came to a stop when they hit the second wall, and he twisted in the vampires’ grasps. “What’s the matter, my prince,” one of them sneered, human blood on his lips. He’d gotten to feed, anyway. “Can’t save your love from the big bad king?” The vampires laughed and drove their fists into his abdomen. Dorian didn’t waste time or energy answering the vampires; he used their weight to hold him against the wall, bringing his legs up and driving his boots into their chests. They went flying backward with the impact and he was on them in the next instant, ripping into their bodies with his claws. The first, he let fall to the floor, lifeless. The second one, however, with the human blood on his lips, Dorian held aloft. He considered, just for a moment, taking the vampire’s blood.

- 281 -

Heather Killough-Walden But something in him couldn’t stomach the thought. It would taste wrong, thick and dark, tainted by unnatural evil. So, instead, he ripped his head off, and dropped both pieces to the floor. And then he blurred across the room and flew through the hole their bodies had made in the wall. What greeted his sight next made him come to a dead halt in his tracks. All movement had stopped. Aleksei Voronoi stood stock-still, not daring to move. At the feet of his imposing figure lay countless dead vampires, all of them having either had their hearts ripped from their chests or their heads taken from their shoulders. That and the sun were the only two ways to kill a vampire without returning them to twice-killed animation as wraiths. Wraiths. The sudden unnatural stillness in the room was at once understandable. For six of the horrible monsters stood in the windows, their twisted forms framed by the night beyond. The wind blew through their hair and clothing and whipped at the gauzy curtains beside them. It was an eerie, terrifying sight. Julien had Emma seated in his lap on the bed, one hand in her hair, exposing her throat, the other hand around her waist, holding her against him. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was chanting, and his eyes had gone solid red, from corner to corner, mirroring the eerie black eyes of the wraiths he now controlled. Dorian cut his gaze to Emma’s face. She was still dazed, but she was frightened and in enough pain that she lay quietly in his grasp, not wanting to draw his attention back to her. Good girl, he thought. Dorian wondered that she hadn’t been bitten yet. He assumed that something had stopped Julien yet again, just as he’d been about to do the deed, and Dorian was grateful, at least, that Julien seemed to be having just as difficult a time with things as he was. - 282 -

The Third Kiss But that was about to change. Because Julien’s horrible black gaze then slid from the wraiths – to Dorian. And, in the very next instant, the wraiths turned to look at him as well. Julien had just ordered them to kill him. **** Emma knew she had the amulet to thank for stopping Julien from sinking his fangs into her throat. One second, his fangs had been extended, and he’d been lowering toward her neck, and the next second, he was rising up again, his handsome face twisted into an animalistic rage. He’d roared, bellowing curses and something about wards, and then he’d lifted her up and positioned her in his lap. She had still been too stunned to move, much less fight him. So she lay, silent and still in his grasp, her mind spinning with far too much information. She’d known that the amulet would not allow anything evil to touch it. But she hadn’t known it would also prevent Julien’s bite. After all, he should have been able to sink his fangs into her as long as he didn’t come into contact with the necklace. However, apparently, that wasn’t the case. And she had been eternally grateful, until he began to chant in that horrible, powerful voice of his and her body went cold with renewed dread. She knew, as if the amulet was telling her so, that whatever else he was doing, he was also trying to find a way around the pendant’s protective powers. And, now that she realized magic was, indeed, very real, she didn’t doubt that he might actually be able to do so. Emma willed herself not to fight in his grasp. He was already hurting her with his grip on her hair, and she wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to actually cause him to stop chanting if she began to struggle in his grip. Instead, she tried to focus on what was happening around them. Her vision was still a little blurry from her impact against the wall, but she scanned the room anyway, knowing she would nonetheless recognize the one she was searching for. - 283 -

Heather Killough-Walden She didn’t see Dorian, but she did see Aleksei. Voronoi looked from her to Julien, his perfect face a mask of pure, deep hatred. She watched him, and listened to Julien chant his evil, and wondered why Aleksei wasn’t attacking him. It was Julien he was after. Why didn’t he kill him now? She watched his red eyes burn holes through Julien’s form, and she imagined that Aleksei wanted to kill him more than her mortal mind could even fathom. Yet, he remained where he was. And then something moved in the window. No, not one something. Several. They looked like wisps of black smoke, rising from the ground in front of the broken panes. There were six of them. Emma tried to look up at Julien, but his hold on her hair kept her head from moving. She winced in pain, but managed not to make a sound. The wisps of smoke grew, expanded, and gradually began to solidify. Emma watched in wonder as they took on the forms of men, tall and strong, but with skin so pale that it was translucent, the arteries, veins and muscle structure showing through. The last to take solid shape were their faces. Emma gasped, despite her resolve to remain silent. They had the most evil faces she’d ever seen, more evil, even, than Julien’s because they were empty, emotionless – hollow. They were all fangs and solid black eyes and talons the size of carving knives. They peered at Julien through those hollow eyes, and she knew that he had summoned them here and that he was controlling them with his horrible incantation. **** Aleksei Voronoi watched the French king call forth his minions. An odium unlike any other roared through his ancient blood, stabbing like needles into his nervous system, begging him to

- 284 -

The Third Kiss take action. But he did not. He knew that if he attacked Julien at that moment, the vampire king would hurt Emma. He couldn’t do that to her. He had brought her here. He at least owed her safe passage back out. So, he stood still and watched as his blood began to boil with loathing and his gums ached and his claws clenched and unclenched at his sides. Movement from across the room drew his attention. Dorian met his gaze. The two communicated without words, their common goal making them, at once, brothers in a way that Julien and Dorian could never have been. And then the wraiths turned their gazes from their master onto Dorian, and Aleksei blurred into motion. A split second later, Dorian did the same. They met together, in the center of the bedroom that had become a battleground, and faced off on the twice-killed monsters. It was a hopeless fight, they knew from the start, but there was nothing for it but to bear teeth and give it their best shot. Yet, even in his current weakened state, Dorian managed to send one soulless body to an eternal rest before a second one shoved four long claws through his midsection and out the other side. Dorian’s world turned on its axis. He heard Emma screaming his name. His vision blurred and darkened. The wraith drew his claws back out, and drove them in once more, this time higher than before. Dorian heard his lower ribs crack and felt an organ rupture before the beast’s knifelike talons punctured on through to erupt from his back in a spray of blood and gore. Again, Emma screamed, and dimly, hopelessly, Dorian heard the sound of knuckles hitting flesh and he knew that Julien had hit her. Some how, that knowledge hurt him worse than the wraith had.

- 285 -

Heather Killough-Walden Beside him, Aleksei destroyed one of the wraiths, finally managing to rip its head off, but the other two he’d faced off on had flanked him in the meantime. He turned to reach out for one of them, and the other drove his fist through his side, driving through in search of the Russian king’s heart. Aleksei roared in pain, but turned slightly, barreling his shoulder into the opposite wraith so that he could wrench away from the one inside of him. The twice-killed vampire’s fist came out of his chest cavity empty, having just missed his heart, and Aleksei fell to the floor. **** Michael Bennet raced down the hall to where the sounds of battle emanated through the house. Sam and Patrick were right behind him, and Paxton and Rachele followed at a close, but less imminently dangerous distance. His magic had created a diversion for Dorian and gotten them past the guards and into the house with a lot less trouble than they’d anticipated. Still, he knew he had very little power left in him. Nearly nothing. All he could really do now was fight. When he rounded the corner and entered the room, it was to find himself staring at a scene straight out of a B-horror movie. Blood and gore and dead bodies littered the floors and walls. There was even blood on the ceiling. Glass shimmered like diamonds across what carpet wasn’t covered by remnants of corpses. Huge gaping holes in the walls yawned into adjoining rooms, where he could see more incredibly messy damage had been done. Patrick came into the room beside him, and was immediately rushing forward again. “Emma!” Emma Nekoda was struggling in Julien Adalard’s grasp, a bruise already blossoming on her left cheek. Her lip was bleeding, and her clothes had been torn in several places. The warlock was - 286 -

The Third Kiss chanting something over her, and a strange, ancient-looking medallion around her neck was glowing hotly. In front of them, Dorian Adalard and another large vampire were wrestling with four massive monsters made of translucent skin, fangs, and claws like scimitars. Dorian and his companion were losing. Badly. Patrick ran through the room toward his sister and Julien, and the vampire’s head snapped up. Patrick knew better than to look into his eyes, however. Fool me once, shame on you… He continued forward until he felt as if he were walking in thick, sticky sludge, and his movements all but came to a stop. And then they did stop. Now he stood, frozen to the spot, and looked up at Julien Adalard’s face. The vampire smiled an evil, gratified smile, and slowly returned his gaze to Emma. He had her arms pinned up behind her, in between her back and the bed, and he was leaning over her, pressing her body into the mattress. “When I turn you, I will make you kill your brother first,” Julien said, whispering the words into Emma’s ear, as a lover would whisper sweet nothings. “I can make you want to do it,” he laughed softly. “I’ll make you do it slowly, so that he feels your betrayal in the core of his soul as you snuff his life out for nothing more than thirst.” Emma glared up at him. She almost couldn’t help it. The pendant around her neck was making her strong and defiant; much more defiant, in fact, than she had the good sense to be. Her penalty was a vicious tug on her already twisted, throbbing arms. She gritted her teeth and inhaled sharply with the pain.

- 287 -

Heather Killough-Walden “And now to rid you of your little protection.” Again, he began chanting. Emma fought valiantly in his hold, but her strength was no match for a vampire’s. The necklace at her throat pulsed dangerously. **** Michael watched it all unfold like a horrible dream. Things were going from bad to worse, and though he knew of a spell that would level the playing field in this situation, he just didn’t possess the strength, any longer, to cast it. And then he remembered. “Dorian!” Dorian fell to his knees as the wraith pulled his hand out a second time, and bits of Dorian’s insides splattered across the monster’s front and the floor beneath them. The half-vampire clutched his middle, desperately needing blood, needing the nourishment to heal. “Dorian!” It wasn’t Emma calling him this time. It was a man. The wizard. Bennet. Dorian gritted his teeth and moaned, low and long. The pain was nearly overwhelming. The wraith was pausing, letting his weakened body heal just a little before driving his deadly weapons into him again. It was as if the monster instinctively knew how to cause the most suffering, and took that direct route. “Dorian, the pendant!” The pendant. Bennet wanted the pendant. Julien. Dorian dropped onto his back, crying out with the agony it wrought, and managed to look up across the room. Bennet was standing in the doorway. Sam was beside him. The two of them - 288 -

The Third Kiss rushed forward as Dorian dug his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the leather strap with the crystal attached. He held his hand up, and Bennet ran by and grabbed the pendant from him, as if they were passing batons. The wraiths did not follow the two men, because they had been directed, specifically, to kill Dorian and anyone who directly tried to stop them from doing so. Dorian watched from the floor as Bennet moved to stand in a relatively clear place between them and Julien, and began to chant. Julien’s head snapped up. He leveled his horrible black gaze on the wizard and drew his lips back in a fang-filled snarl. Bennet held the pendant aloft in his right hand and stared the vampire down. He did not stop chanting, even when Julien roughly threw Emma to the bed and began to slice into her wrists and thighs with his claws, leaving shallow trails of blood along her flesh. Patrick bellowed with rage, fighting uselessly in the hold of the magic that Julien had used on him. Emma screamed in pain and kicked and bucked against Julien with abandon. Julien snarled again and jumped onto the bed, straddling her legs so that she couldn’t move. She slammed her fists uselessly against his chest while he ignored her and continued to focus his attention on the medallion. Emma understood, now, why Aleksei had left the necklace on the bed for her to wear. He knew this night would come to this and that her medallion was the only thing that could prevent her from receiving Julien’s dreaded bite. But he hadn’t counted on this. The medallion would prevent Julien from biting her. It wouldn’t prevent him from killing her. She continued to beat at him from beneath his weight, until, finally the vampire growled in terrible fury and backhanded her once again. In the next instant, as her head snapped cruelly to - 289 -

Heather Killough-Walden one side and her eyes closed, Julien drew his hand back once more, and in one clean, livid swipe, he sliced his claws across her chest, digging deep furrows into the tissue, muscle, and organs beneath. Emma’s body went limp as the blood rose quickly and oozed from her open wounds, rapidly staining her clothes and the bed spread beneath her. “No!” Dorian bellowed in rage, fear, and pain and somehow managed to get himself up off of the ground. In a haze of red wrath, he blurred into motion, side-stepping the wraith as the monster again punched forward to sink his claws into his chest, this time aiming for his heart. The wraith’s hand met empty air as Dorian’s rage sped him past the monster in a blend of melted color and speed. Bennet’s chanting grew louder, his voice magically altering so that it lowered several octaves and took on a powerful resonation. Again, Julien looked up. Bennet knew that the vampire king was enraged beyond reason. He was going for broke – playing the last of his cards. He knew, however, that this was because the king now sensed the very real threat of Bennet’s burgeoning spell. Julien slowly slid off of Emma’s legs and faced the young wizard. Patrick sobbed uncontrollably, unable to do anything but stand several feet away from his dying sister and try not to notice the mess that Julien had made of her body. Bennet’s chanting rose to a pinnacle of power, and then Julien’s voice cut in, loud and clear. “There’s only one thing that will save her now, wizard,” he said, calmly. “If she does not receive the third kiss, she will die. I suggest you put your efforts to removing the gypsy’s ward from her body, instead of trying to destroy me.” But Bennet could not be distracted from his task. His powerful incantation droned in Dorian’s head like war drums, fueling him, driving him on. As two more wraiths attacked - 290 -

The Third Kiss Dorian’s blurring form, coming once more between him and their master, the half-vampire sliced through them with unnatural, fury-born ease, only to have a third and fourth attack from behind. The clash around the cavalry of wizards, psychics, half-vampires, and kings seemed to slow in time, ultimately hopeless, their world a weary battlefield of blood and defeat. Patrick watched the last of the color drain from his sister’s cheeks. Aleksei slumped against the wall where the wraiths had thrown him after tearing away most of his throat. And in the next, desperate, time-stopped moment, the pendant in Bennet’s hand cracked open and a light as bright as the sun began to spill forth from its depths. The light swirled around Bennet’s hand, growing and pulsing. Rachele, who had been standing in the doorway for some time, knew, instinctively, what was about to happen. A vision flashed before her mind’s eye, leaving its demanding impression on her consciousness. She blinked and searched the room. The vampire she was searching for was slumped against the west wall, his huge form broken and bleeding. “Paxton, Sam, help me!” The other two turned and, because they were too traumatized to do differently, they ran to her side, where she stood over Aleksei Voronoi. “Help me get him into the hall! Hurry!” The wraiths that had been attacking the Russian king strode forward, grabbing Paxton by the back of the neck to lift her up off of the ground. Sam spun and tried to pull her away, but Rachele grabbed his shirt front and bellowed in his face. “There’s no time! She won’t be harmed if we get him out into the hall! Trust me!” The light around Bennet continued to grow. It was so bright that it radiated heat, and Julien Adalard took an uncertain step back. His gaze was on the light, but he blinked furiously, the radiance hurting his eyes.

- 291 -

Heather Killough-Walden Sam blinked at Rachele. Her eyes bored into his, compelling him to believe her. An eternal, silent moment passed between them, and then he bent to take Aleksei’s arms by the wrists. Using all of his considerable, if human strength, he hauled the vampire through the open door, heedless of the glass and debris he had to drag him across, and then pulled him a good distance down the hall. Rachele watched him go and then turned to glare at the wraith that held Paxton. The beast, having been robbed of his target, dropped the girl. She fell forward, but caught herself quickly, and ran to Rachele’s side. They peered across the room and watched as the light in Bennet’s hand finally flashed outward, and Julien roared in fear and rage, leaping forward to take Bennet down. In that instant, his dark magic released its hold on the wraiths, and Patrick was freed from his immobile hold as well, as Bennet’s light pierced through Julien’s chest, searing a hole into his body where his heart had once been. The light grew further, radiating upward and out, to encompass the entire room in a wash of true sunlight. The flash grew blinding and everyone covered their eyes. When it was gone, so was Julien. The floor was covered in strange black ash. There were piles of it, dunes in certain places, all through the room. The wraiths were gone, as were the corpses of every vampire that had been killed in the bedroom, and the room adjoining it. Sam came around the corner and ran to Patrick, who was sinking to the ground, holding his sister tightly in his arms. Dorian pushed himself up from where he’d fallen, his body ever so slowly attempting to heal his vast number of wounds. His red eyes found Patrick and Emma, and, for the last time that

- 292 -

The Third Kiss night, he blurred into motion to stand beside the woman who lay bleeding into the four-poster bed. He put his fingers to her neck, as everyone else drew near. They formed a semi-circle around the two, waiting for Dorian’s declaration. “She’s alive,” he said, his voice so wrought with both relief and grief that it sounded wrenched from deep within him. Dorian gazed down at the woman he loved. In another minute, she would be dead. He was frozen in indecision, real and honest love ripping him apart inside. She didn’t want to live an in an eternity of darkness. She was like Bennet’s flash of light, golden and warm. He could bring her over, but she would have to exist forever beneath the cold blue light of the moon. She would become a fragment of what she had once been. Was it better that she be dead? He cried out in desperation, dropping to his knees beside the bed, and gripping her cold wrist tightly in his hand. “Do it, Dorian,” Rachele said, coming up beside him. “Give her the third kiss.” Dorian shook his head. “Yes, Dorian,” Rachele repeated, more firmly this time. “She’s almost gone,” Paxton whispered. “You can’t waste any more time!” Rachele grasped his arm, shaking him. “Give her the third kiss! Dorian – give her your third kiss!” Dorian stilled. Rachele’s words swam through him, floated around him, a recognition, a comprehension that resisted fruition. And then it was there. The truth. Why hadn’t he seen it before? He was a half-vampire. He walked in daylight. Was it possible that his kiss would be different from Julien’s? - 293 -

Heather Killough-Walden He was willing to take that risk. He lifted Emma to him, let her head gently fall back, and sank his fangs into her throat. He drank deeply, clutching her to him tightly, willing her to come back to him. He pulled hard against her neck, taking what blood there was to take, and swallowing rapidly, compelling the change to kick-start within her. She bucked in his grasp, and a moan escaped her lips. He listened as heard her heart beat hard, once, twice, against her rib cage. He continued to drink. He wouldn’t stop until he was certain. He’d never changed a human before. He’d never made another vampire. It was not something he’d ever had the inclination, or the desire, to do. He didn’t know what to expect when the change came over her. He prepared himself for a struggle, for the worst. Whatever happened, he would not stop until she was his. Everyone around him watched in rapt silence as her wounds began to close. The deep gashes in her neck and chest drew together and sealed shut, and then disappeared entirely, leaving her skin whole and perfect. The bruise on her cheek faded into a healthy blush, and her eyes fluttered open. They were glowing. A beautiful amber-gold, they looked like flecks of sunshine in her lovely face. She groaned softly and her hands reached up, running through Dorian’s hair, grasping handfuls of it as he swallowed one last time and then slowly, gently, pulled his fangs from her neck. “Dorian…” she said softly. Her voice had changed, become slightly deeper, richer, and more seductive. Dorian gazed into her magnificent eyes, his own wide with wonder. She was beyond beautiful. She was a goddess, lying in his arms. - 294 -

The Third Kiss His queen. She smiled up at him, flashing small perfect fangs. His gut clenched as heat flooded through him, diving straight into his loins. He held her tighter, and she slowly pulled his head down toward hers. He was thinking that she needed blood, needed to feed. He was consumed with the urge to care for her, protect her, make her whole. But his thoughts were drowned out and hushed, like so much background noise, as her perfect lips parted softly, her breath sweet as wine. He leaned in and closed his eyes, feeling as if he could not hold her close enough. He’d come so close to losing her. And he’d only just found her. He never wanted to let her go again. His own lips covered hers with a feather-light gentleness that utterly belied the whirlwind of emotions raging through him. His tongue slipped past her teeth, felt the new length and sharpness of her elongated fangs, and then it curled around hers and shoved in deep, tasting her with an abandon that he could not fight. He groaned low in his throat. And then someone cleared theirs. Slowly, he pulled away from her. Emma continued to smile up at him, her lips red and swollen with his kiss. Patrick stepped forward. “Emma, I –” Emma slowly rose from Dorian’s grasp and sat on the edge of the bed. Patrick gazed down at her, his eyes red with shed tears, his cheeks stained with dry ones. He shook his head, not knowing what else to say, and then Emma was standing and the two were embracing. Patrick squeezed her tight; his little sister, his precious charge in a world full of bad guys. A part of him wanted to hold her forever, to make certain she was always safe. But another part of him knew that she was now. Safer than he could ever keep her. - 295 -

Heather Killough-Walden He opened his eyes and looked at Dorian over her shoulder. Dorian nodded, once, slowly, and Patrick nodded back. There was a silent understanding that passed between them in that instant. And then Patrick slowly let her go. She turned and hugged Sam. Sam squeezed her gently, as he always had. “Hi Emma. I’m Rachele. Remember me, from Jackson Square?” Emma blinked and turned around. She recognized the young woman immediately. “Yes,” she said, “I remember you. Thank you for your help. I think you may have saved my life. Many times over.” Rachele smiled and shrugged. “It’s what I do. This is Paxton,” she said as she introduced the young woman beside her. Emma smiled at her warmly. Paxton beamed. “It’s a pleasure, Emma. Well, sort of. At least, now it is, anyway. Not so much before, though, with the blood and the guts and the vampires and all that. I mean, not that I have anything against vampires! It’s just, I mean…” Paxton blushed furiously and then fell quiet and just smiled as her whole face turned a bright red. Emma laughed, and Dorian joined her. Sam and Patrick exchanged looks, and Bennet covered his mouth with his fist. “And this is Bennet.” Rachele introduced the young wizard. Bennet placed his hand to his chest and bowed low. “My queen,” he said, with real grace and not a bit of sarcasm. Emma stared at him in silence for a moment and then she felt Dorian stand behind her and pull her back against him. “He’s right, little one. You are the queen now.” She turned and gazed up at him. “Yes,” Rachele agreed. “And you’re the king.” Dorian tore his gaze from Emma’s and looked up at Rachele. She was smiling a very pleased smile. “Looks like it all turned out all right,” she said, clasping her hands before her happily. - 296 -

The Third Kiss “Then let me be the first to officially welcome the new queen into our world,” came a beautiful, deep voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to see Aleksei Voronoi enter the room, his wounds completely healed. He looked as impossibly handsome as ever, despite his torn, stained clothing. He strode gracefully across the ash-covered floor until he stood before Emma. She stared up at him, forever in awe of his beauty and power. He gazed down into her amber-gold eyes and smiled a secret, knowing smile. She blushed. Dorian growled. Aleksei glanced up, caught the vampire’s glowing gaze of warning, and smiled. He nodded conceit, and lifted Emma’s hand to his lips. He brushed the back of it with a discreet and respectful kiss, looked deeply into her beautiful eyes one last time, and then stepped back. “Thank you for pulling me out in time, young lady,” the Russian king turned to Rachele. She blushed. “If you hadn’t, I would be blending in with the other ash in this room.” Rachele could only smile. Aleksei then addressed Dorian. “I assume you’ll want to go after Tristan.” Dorian’s gaze narrowed once again. “Where is he?” “Might I suggest, your majesty, that you leave him be.” Aleksei spoke softly, his tone one of well-practiced reason. “Why should I?” Dorian asked, his own tone low and deadly. “Because what’s done is done and Julien is dead, you are king, and Emma is yours. Do not let your life become a paragraph on one of Alexandre Dumas’s written pages.” And besides, he is not the only half-vampire to have delivered Emma to a king. Dorian blinked. The Russian had spoken to him telepathically. Dorian had long known that Aleksei Voronoi was an ancient vampire – more ancient than any other alive – and that with age - 297 -

Heather Killough-Walden came power. He had been subject to many rumors of what the Russian king was capable of. Apparently, at least a few of those rumors held true. Aleksei smiled a grim smile. Dorian looked at him for a good, long while. The reference to The Count of Monte Cristo not at all lost on him. Nor was the rest of what he’d said. “Very well,” Dorian finally said, sighing wearily. “I’ll let him go. But if he ever makes the mistake of showing his face in my presence again, I will rip it off.” Aleksei smiled. “Fair enough.”

- 298 -

The Third Kiss

Chapter Fifteen “I hadn’t anticipated that he would do such a thing. Or even that he knew of such a thing,” Voronoi said softly. They were all seated around the massive fire place in the great room of his manor. Emma had showered and had been given fresh clothing to wear. Dorian had hopped into the shower with her. Voronoi’s pipes were now out of hot water. “I think he hated Julien as much as I did,” Dorian shrugged. “Giving me the location of his sleeping chamber was a load off of his mind.” “It matters not, though,” Aleksei continued, his gaze trapped in the red and orange blaze of the flames dancing in the hearth. “You would have come here first, would you not?” He turned then and glanced at Dorian. Dorian nodded, once. “I have to admit, though, Aleksei, this battle surprises me. You are usually much more prepared. Julien almost overwhelmed us with those wraiths.” Aleksei nodded, not at all offended. “Indeed. But Emma appeared on my radar screen a day after she appeared on yours,” he said, glancing at Emma. She smiled demurely and he grinned at her. Slowly, he turned back to Dorian. “Tristan was my contact. I had two days to gather as many of my people as possible. Unfortunately, the timing was horrific. A large number of them are currently in Minnesota. Rune Einar is dealing with something that required my help.” They were all silent for a moment. Only one of them knew that Rune Einar was the Norse vampire king, but nobody asked for clarification. The solitary sound of the crackling in the hearth was warm and comfortable. “You lost Viktor and Mikhail,” Dorian said then. “Yes. I knew you would kill them.” Dorian’s brow rose.

- 299 -

Heather Killough-Walden Aleksei sighed. “Mikhail and Viktor were not good men. I thought, if they succeed, then all the better. I would have Emma. If they failed, then a problem has been taken care of. As I said, though, in the end, I knew that you would kill them.” Again, everyone fell silent. Then Emma spoke up. “How did you manage to get a hold of this gypsy pendant, Aleksei?” Aleksei glanced at her. She was fingering the medallion around her neck. It had settled down once again into its smooth lapis blue. Aleksei laughed that perfect rumble of his, and Emma knew he was aware of what it did to the women in the room, including her. She hugged her legs up under her and turned to gaze into the fire place, her cheeks blushing. What she didn’t notice was that Paxton and Rachele were doing the same. “I called in a favor with the queen of the Boyash tribe in Romania.” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Though I’m sure she’ll see it differently. She is a brilliantly stubborn – and very powerful – woman.” Then he sobered, and cocked his head to one side. “It is lucky for us that she agreed to give us aid.” Emma turned her gaze from the fireplace and met Aleksei’s. “Indeed, it is. I would have been fodder for Julien without it. I suppose I owe her for my life too.” She paused, allowing the silence to stretch. And then she cocked her head to one side. “Would you have brought me here if you had not been able to protect me from him in this way?” she asked. She wanted to know if he would have sacrificed her to get to Julien. She had a feeling she knew the answer. Aleksei put his hand on his chest and inclined his head respectfully. “No, Emma. I promise I would not have.”

- 300 -

The Third Kiss “That’s true. He had the chance to attack Julien when Julien was chanting, but because the warlock was holding you at the time, Aleksei held back.” Rachele said. She didn’t turn to look at them as she spoke, apparently mesmerized by the leaping blaze in the hearth. Emma and Aleksei stared at one another a moment more, and then Emma nodded and returned to gazing into the fire place. Dorian addressed Bennet. “You did well up there, wizard.” Bennet turned to regard him. “Thanks, vampire. You didn’t do so bad, yourself.” “How would you like a job working for Adalard Enterprises? Pay is good.” Bennet blinked. “You mean, as a wizard?” Dorian smiled, “No, as an architect.” His tone was droll. Bennet laughed, looked at the floor for a moment, chewed on his lip, and then looked back up at Dorian. “What’s involved?” “I can fill you in on all of the details later. But, basically, I may have need of a bit of magic from time to time.” “Everyone does,” Rachele said. She turned around to face them. She looked almost ethereal where she sat on the rug in front of the hearth, framed by the flames behind her. If it weren’t for her clothes, she would have appeared ghostlike and paranormal. Dorian agreed. “Indeed. That’s why I want you all working for me, Rachele. Magic takes different forms. I would like to be prepared for all of them.” **** Emma was silent as they made their way across the street and into the forested park where Dorian had left his bike. She had a million things she wanted to ask and a million things she wanted to say, but the sheer volume of traumatic events that had unfolded over the last few days

- 301 -

Heather Killough-Walden and nights left her stunned. Silence was the natural bedmate to shock, and so she remained quiet as she walked beside the new French vampire king, her hand held tightly in his. As they moved, she marveled at the physical changes within her body. She could see everything in the darkness of the night as if it were merely dusk; and with concentration, she could focus in on objects that were far away, just as she could with her camera lens. She could hear a dog panting in a yard a block away, and the wind through the boughs of the trees threatened to overwhelm her with volume. However, all she needed to do was wish it to be so, and the things she heard died down, became muted, until it was as if she were merely human once again. It was amazing. If she concentrated hard enough, she could even hear Dorian’s heart beating beside her. And she could smell him. She could smell everything. The rain-wet dirt, the blood on her clothes, the blood on Dorian’s clothes – the blood in his veins. She could smell leather and smoke and asphalt and the lingering electricity of lightning from the storm. The night, itself, had a smell. It was a cool smell, a little like rain, but deeper and cleaner. She wouldn’t know how to describe it, should someone ask her. Maybe Allison, the romance writer, would have been able to put words to it. The closest she could come would be to call it… hollow. Dark. New. It smelled like wiping the slate clean, and starting over. Emma inhaled deeply and breathed it in. Starting over sounded nice. She chanced a glance up at the man beside her and found that he was staring down at her. Dorian smiled. You can hear me, can’t you? His smile broadened and he nodded, once. She laughed. I can’t keep you out of here, can I? - 302 -

The Third Kiss “No,” he said aloud, with a guilty shrug. Emma knew that, as a vampire, Dorian had been able to read her thoughts while she was human. And, if she’d been turned by anyone but him, then when she’d become a vampire, herself, his ability to do so would have come to an abrupt end. However, she was his changeling, and as such, she was connected to him. She was also his prophesied queen, which made the connection deep and unbreakable. He could enter her thoughts at will, just as he’d been able to do when she was a mortal. The caveat was that she could do the same to him. She gazed up at his face. His expression was so tender that she felt the sudden irrepressible need to touch it. They stopped simultaneously on the thick wet grass and he turned toward her. Emma’s fingers brushed his cheek and then his chin. It was coarse with stubble. His blue eyes glowed unnaturally, beautifully. She was lost in him. I know what you’re thinking, his thoughts wrapped around hers, just as his voice did when he spoke. Oh? She asked, innocently. Yes. You’re thinking that you love me. There was no point in not admitting it. Okay, you got me. She paused, stood on her tip toes, and leaned up toward him. He bent to meet her half way. I love you, she thought at him. Warmth flooded her body as he took her mouth in his and his arms came around her to press her up against him. Dorian claimed her lips as gently as he could, considering how badly he wanted her at that moment. He ran his hand through her hair, curling his fist around the silken locks as if he would never get enough of the way they felt. His tongue explored the inside of her mouth and, with it, - 303 -

Heather Killough-Walden he felt the sharp prick of her own small fangs. The effect it had upon him was instantaneous. His own fangs began to lengthen, and he growled low in his throat. His thoughts leapt into a blaze of need and hunger inside of her mind. They washed over Emma like a tidal wave, smothering her in an animalistic lust that he’d held at check for too long. She gasped against his mouth and he pressed harder against her, drinking her in, making her weak. With one hand hard at her back and the other in her hair, he held her fast and suddenly took to the skies. She shrieked in surprise, but he swallowed her cry, drowning it with his kiss, and in another second, she moaned against him, releasing herself into his practiced control. The clouds that had filled the sky earlier that night had all but dissipated, and a very small part of Emma worried that they might be seen. Allow me. The thought hadn’t been her own. Nor had it been Dorian’s. But she would recognize that voice anywhere, even when spoken into her mind. Aleksei. Dorian growled and broke their kiss. The Russian was in his head again. He felt the building storm surrounding them. It was Voronoi’s doing. The Russian king had many gifts, indeed. But Dorian didn’t give a whit about any of them so long as the Russian king stayed the hell away from Emma. Had he been in her head too? He pulled back and gazed down into her eyes. Emma stared wide-eyed up at him. His sapphire eyes were glowing and the wind whipped through his wavy blonde hair as, over his shoulders, clouds moved in from nowhere. Lightning

- 304 -

The Third Kiss struck a half a mile away, outlining his form in eerie white-blue light. He was a vision of awesome power, and she was held fast in his unbroken grasp. Dorian read her thoughts and suddenly no longer cared whether Aleksei had entered her mind or not. Right now, Dorian had her full and undivided attention, and that was good enough for him. “I love you, Emma,” he told her quietly. His tone was gentle, but held an edge of finality. He’d had the last word and expected no further discussion on the matter. She laughed. You expected me to argue? He blinked. Then, cracking another smile, he kissed her once more. The clouds built into a storm head around them and released their heavy load of rain. Lightning struck again, but Emma was, for once in her life, utterly fearless of the white bolts cascading through the sky. She was caught up in something altogether stronger than the gale around her. Dorian suddenly leaned back and then he was ripping her shirt off of her body, somehow managing to hold her to him at the same time. As a vampire, she would be able to fly on her own, but needed a little instruction before trying it unaided. Emma gasped as the materials of her t-shirt and bra gave easily beneath his strength and she was bared to his touch, to his eyes, to the rain and the wind. His hand in her hair tugged her head back and she arched against him as he bent his head to her neck and tasted the rain on her skin. She moaned as electric heat sizzled along her flesh when the hand that had been in her hair released it and then slid down her body to cup her breast. His thumb brushed teasingly against her taut nipple. And then, in the flash of an instant, his strong hand was around the waistband of her jeans. Emma tensed, certain that he would shred the jeans. - 305 -

Heather Killough-Walden Yet, he seemed to hold himself in check and, despite the desperately urgent need she felt coming off of him in wave after wave of crazed lust, he didn’t tear them off of her, but instead, unbuttoned the top button and shoved his hand down the front. She cried out as his fingers immediately found the moist heat between her legs and stopped there to graze teasingly across the slick opening of her lips. His thumb brushed expertly against her clitoris and then her eyes went wide when she felt his fangs sink into her neck. “Dorian!” She gasped his name and her own claws lengthened, piercing the leather of his jacket where they gripped his shoulders tightly. She hadn’t expected this – couldn’t believe he was doing it. Couldn’t believe how it was making her feel! He did not answer. He sucked gently, taking her blood at a maddeningly unhurried, deliberate pace. The effect it had on her body was beyond compelling. It was more than intense. An outright painful heat coiled in her belly and then pooled between her legs. Her breasts flushed heavy and hot; her nipples began to throb. Dorian growled again and then shoved his fingers inside of her. She cried out in sudden ecstasy, her muscles flexing and un-flexing, contracting around him as he very slowly began to lower them both to the ground. She was oblivious to the fact that they’d touched down, because he didn’t relent in his sexual assault as he laid her out beneath him in the grass and skillfully did away with her shoes, socks, and jeans. She’d become naked, sprawled on the wet ground under him, without knowing how it had come to be. All she could feel, all she could know, were his fingers moving so deep within her, and his mouth against her throat, where he sent heat and desire rushing through her bloodstream in exchange for every languid pull and swallow he took of her newly magical, powerful blood. She was certain she would have run out of the red liquid by now. She’d lost so much to Julien’s mortal wounds, lost so much to Dorian’s third kiss… But Dorian drank slowly, - 306 -

The Third Kiss swallowing small amounts, using the connection instead to bring her a truly maddening pleasure that shoved all coherent thought from her mind and killed every sense she felt save one. And then he was pulling his teeth out of her neck and his fingers from between her legs. He straightened slowly. A soft sound of protest escaped her parted lips. She opened her eyes and gazed up into his, which now burned a covetous red with passion. His clothes were also gone and rain battered down upon his sculpted body. It shimmered upon his moonlit skin, outlining the perfection of his toned chest, shoulders and arms. She raised her arms to feel him, but he caught her wrists in one of his hands and held them. She was instantly frustrated. She bared her fangs. He smiled a rapacious and wicked grin. His fangs were bigger. She shivered beneath him and he moved her arms over her head and held them against the grass. She instinctively struggled against his hold, and he chuckled softly. “You may be one of us now, my love, but I’ve got several centuries on you.” She was about to retort with something smart, when his free hand returned to her breast. He took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. Her eyes closed as a new wave of lust swallowed her words. He bent his head and his mouth followed after his fingers. She moaned low in her throat when his teeth grazed her nipple and his fangs pricked at the flesh, threatening her deliciously. At the same time, the hand that had been on her breast moved down once again, and Emma began to struggle with renewed vigor, knowing he was going to torture her further with his touch between her legs. He laughed again, low and cruel against her creamy flesh, and she bit her lip when his fingers indeed found their mark, despite her protests. For several eternally long moments, Dorian tormented her with those fingers, moving them in expert precision, causing her to gasp and squirm beneath him. - 307 -

Heather Killough-Walden And then Dorian reared up, and his eyes settled on hers. She held her breath. In the next instant, he replaced his fingers with something much bigger and harder and lowered his mouth to hers, crushing her lips in a blatantly hungry and demanding kiss. She cried out against his lips as he shoved into her with one swift, brutal thrust, impaling her to her core and filling her, absolutely, with a throbbing heat that threatened to eat her alive. Dorian could barely contain the fury of physical sensation riding his body. She’d bitten her lip with her new fangs, and her blood spread across his tongue as he plunged into her body, driving into her with every ounce of his reckless need. She was hot and tight and gripped him in a way that would drive a mortal man to madness. He eased out of her, only to thrust back into her, impossibly deeper this time. His kiss hardened and he drank in her cry of mingled pleasure and pain as she unconsciously arched against him, urging him on. His free hand cupped her breast, squeezed, and he thrust into her again. He moved his hand to grasp the back of her neck, holding her against him as his kiss claimed her almost pitilessly, bruising her lips and making her gasp for air. All the while, he drove into her, again and again, and she cried out against him as the need for release built within her, almost overwhelming in its intensity. His pace quickened and he released her wrists, allowing her to grip his shoulders with her newly found claws. As she reached that precipice of pleasure, those nails dug in, clinging for dear life. And then she screamed as he took them both over the edge, plunging them into an abyss of pitch black ecstasy. Dorian’s mind went reeling into a senseless delirium as he came inside her hard, again and again. He broke the kiss and rose up, roaring into the thundering heavens as his body was gripped in a release so severe, it left him bewildered. He’d never felt anything like it; it was too strong, and seemed to go on forever. - 308 -

The Third Kiss Emma’s scream eventually died down beneath him, drifting into a breathless moan and gasps for air. She shuddered in his grasp, riding out the final, blissful waves of her climax. Dorian had squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth against the fierce ecstasy that had enveloped him. It still had not completely released him. But he managed to open his eyes and peered down at his queen. The rain glistened on her naked flesh and sent her hair spanning around her like a dark gold waterfall. Every muscle in his body tensed as the last of his own orgasm racked through him. Several long moments later, the rain began to die down and with it, the glowing light in Dorian’s eyes faded from red, to purple, to blue. Emma opened her own eyes and settled them upon him. His breath caught at her beauty. Her golden eyes now glowed like the sun, lit from within, and her sensuous mouth curled into a smile of pure, unadaltered satisfaction. But she was a touch pale. A stab of guilt lanced through Dorian. He smothered it quickly, selfishly, and lowered himself over her to rest upon his elbows. “You need to feed, Emma.” She gazed up at him for a long, silent moment. And then she closed her eyes and nodded. “I know.” “You can drink from me.” Her eyes flew open again and her brow furrowed. “The truth is, I can’t stand the thought of you sinking your fangs into anyone else,” he told her. “Indulge me in this?” He asked softly. “I’ll feed from mortals for the both of us.” “But, Dorian –” He leaned on one arm, and placed the forefinger of his other hand to her lips to silence her. “Emma, I don’t want you to have to do what I do. To know what I know. The people I feed from - 309 -

Heather Killough-Walden – they aren’t good people. You shouldn’t have to touch them.” He smiled tenderly. “Let me do the dirty work?” Emma blinked up at him. He took her hands and gently lifted her into a sitting position in front of him and held her there. She thought about what he asked. In the end, she could see no down side to it. But she still wondered about the blood thing, in general. What would it taste like? If it was warm and metallic and gross… Would she throw up? Starve her vampire self to death? Then, almost reverently, Dorian brushed his hand through the hair at the back of her scalp and his smile was reassuring. “You have to trust me, Emma. You’ve tasted me before. You just don’t remember.” He pulled her closer and leaned his head a touch to one side. Emma’s heart beat sped up. Something stirred within her. It was natural. Instinctual. Her gums began to ache around her newly formed fangs. Her heart beat sped up and her breathing quickened once more. She was hungry. And she wanted him. “You know what to do, Emma. Do it now.” Emma leaned in. Her breath came in short gasps across his skin. Her fingertips gently grazed across his shoulder and neck, moving his long blonde locks out of the way. She shivered with the anticipation of what she was about to do. He hugged her tighter to him. “Do it,” he told her again, this time with more force.

- 310 -

The Third Kiss She hesitated, not at all certain she could actually go through with it. She hated causing anything any kind of pain and she knew that, on the face of it, what she was about to do was pierce her lover’s flesh and dig two deep holes into it. “You know it doesn’t hurt, Emma.” You know it well, he spoke into her mind, reminding her of the pleasure she’d felt when he’d bitten her only moments before. Emma closed her eyes. Her heart hammered hard against her rib cage. She opened her mouth, exposing her fangs, and then lowered them to the taut skin of his throat. She hesitated once more, trembling now in his grasp. And then he was in her mind, his powerful presence wrapping around her consciousness like a fleece blanket. Warming her, comforting her, easing her on. The next thing she knew, her fangs were sinking into his flesh and he was groaning in her ear. She pulled against the two puncture wounds, and his blood rose to pool in her mouth. It tasted like heated wine and exotic spices. She swallowed and heat flooded her body, causing her trembling to calm. She drew again and swallowed another mouthful. Dorian growled and laid them both on the ground once more. She lay beside him, drinking deeply now. And as he fed her, she became forever lost in everything that was Dorian Adalard.

- 311 -

Heather Killough-Walden

Epilogue “So, what, exactly do I still get to eat?” “That depends. If Rachele was right, and my giving you the third kiss has made you like me, then you’ll be able to consume several things.” They were sitting on two of the plush couches in his apartment in New Orleans. Harley played tag with the bunch of feathers on a string that was tied to a stick in Emma’s hands, and she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off of the little guy for half an hour. Dorian was beginning to feel inexplicably jealous. They’d been back in the Quarter for two hours now. Emma had been drilling him with questions about vampires the entire time. He didn’t mind, though. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge was part of what he loved about her. “Such as what? I need specifics,” she told him, and then laughed when Harley did a complete back flip in the air, to land deftly on all four paws and swipe at the feathers again. It was only the fiftieth time he had done so, but it never failed to make Emma giggle. “Well, in general, you can eat anything you don’t have to kill to consume.” That got her attention. She looked up at him then and completely missed the triple axel jump Harley performed. He meowed loudly when he landed, as if he was aware that she hadn’t caught his performance. But she still stared at Dorian. Dorian smiled, smugly satisfied. “What do you mean, anything you don’t have to kill?” “Seeds, fruit, nuts – that kind of thing,” he said, watching carefully for her reaction. He was fully aware that as a vegan, her mortal diet hadn’t been too far off from what she would eat if she were a Halfling. He waited to see understanding dawn on her beautiful face.

- 312 -

The Third Kiss “You mean… like, anything that naturally falls off of, or can be picked off of the plant, without harming the plant?” He nodded, once. She blinked at him. “So, I could even eat chocolate?” “Dark chocolate, with very little to no sugar. Milk chocolate involves milk, which I have never been able to stomach. However, the cocoa bean is basically picked from the tree and the plant is unharmed, so, in a word, yes. You can eat chocolate.” She blinked again. “Dorian, that’s utterly fascinating!” She leaned forward, forgetting entirely about Harley for the moment. “Why is that? I mean, you take blood from humans, and they’re living, after all. Why is it that the rest of your diet is like…” She searched for the right words. “Like being a fruitarian?” He shrugged. The truth was, he didn’t know. Up until yesterday, he’d figured he was the only half vampire in existence. He’d experimented with food for two-hundred years, and come to some conclusions. He’d wondered about it often, and eventually, he began to believe that it had something to do with the very fact that he had to take blood from humans. “I’m not positive, actually,” he said, “but it may be that it’s nature’s way of balancing things out. I kill humans – so, I’m not allowed to kill anything else.” Emma watched him in silence for several long moments. His words swam in her head. He killed humans. Of course, he did. Dorian was an honorable man, and she could imagine him out on the streets, settling the scores between mortals by ridding humanity of those that preyed upon the helpless. He must have a will of iron to be able to do that every night, she thought. And she was suddenly glad that he would be gallantly doing her half for her. She would never have the stomach to kill; not for any reason other than self defense. And yet, if she were faced with the - 313 -

Heather Killough-Walden choice of feeding from a man who hurt others and killing him, or of feeding from him and letting him go, she knew she would forever regret letting him go. It was a choice she was infinitely grateful she did not have to make. A scratching sound below her caught her attention and she leaned over the edge of the couch to see that Harley was desperately attempting to scramble up its side. His tiny, sharp claws were deeply embedded in its material. He peered up at Emma, his light gray eyes wide with determination and a touch of fear that he wouldn’t make it. He meowed loudly, and she bent to help him up. It took a few gentle tugs before he released his sticky death grip on the couch, but eventually he let go, and she settled him on her lap. She was still in awe of the fact that she had no allergies any longer. She wondered how many cats Dorian would allow her to have – “One.” She looked up at him. He was giving her a stern look, but the corners of his mouth were turned up in the beginnings of a smile. She smiled back, blushing beneath the weight of his gaze. “That’s what you think. One cat always becomes several.” He chuckled and shook his head. And then Emma recalled something. She brought her fingers to her neck. “I forgot to ask Aleksei something. What do ‘dand’ and ‘doshman’ mean?” Dorian cocked his head to one side, studying her carefully. “Where did you hear those words?” “They were on the note in the box with the amulet. It said it would protect me from the dand of the doshman.” “That makes sense. ‘Dand’ is the Roma term for ‘tooth’ and ‘doshman’ is ‘evil spirit’. I’m sure that’s why it protected you from Julien’s bite.” - 314 -

The Third Kiss Emma nodded slowly, her fingers lazily stroking the edges of the lapis pendant. “What will we do with it now?” “Well, it’s yours, so it’s up to you,” he told her softly. She chewed her lip for a moment. Then she reached up and unclasped it from behind her neck, and laid it gently in her hand. “Let’s send it back to the gypsies. I’m certain there are others who will have need of it.” He nodded and then turned to glance out the window behind him. “The sun will be rising soon.” There was a knock on the door. Emma turned to look at Dorian. “You heard them coming too, didn’t you?” she asked. Her enhanced vampire senses had allowed her to make out the sound of several footsteps climbing the outside steps to the door of the apartment. “Yes. I’ll get it,” he told her. He rose gracefully and walked to the door. When he opened it, Sam, Patrick, Rachele, Paxton, and Bennet scrambled in. As a group, then, the six of them turned to face Emma. None of them spoke. She sighed, smiled, and nodded. Dorian stepped through the small crowd and made his way back to Emma’s side. He took her hands in his. “You don’t have to do this.” “Yes I do.” She told him softly. Then she gently pulled away and turned to walk toward the tall glass sliding doors along one wall. Dorian heard Rachele come up beside him. “Are you sure about this?” He asked, not taking his eyes from Emma’s solitary form. He was suddenly so nervous, he was sweating. “For the tenth time, I’m positive. Trust me.”

- 315 -

Heather Killough-Walden He didn’t answer, but strode across the room to stand before Emma, and then grabbed her by the waist. He picked her up and re-deposited her where he wanted her. She tried not to roll her eyes, but he caught the mental suggestion. He ignored her. “Remember, just the hand,” he said softly, willing her to obey him. She narrowed her gaze at him. “Please,” he amended, taking her hand and slowly holding it out toward the window. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Paxton moved to the windows and pulled the curtains open. “Thirty seconds to go,” Bennet told them. He stood against one wall with a stop watch in his hand. He was staring at it fixedly. “Emma, remember just the hand,” Patrick reminded her. He had moved to stand in front of one of the couches, but his tall form was rigid with anxious anticipation. Sam patted his back. Emma cut a glare at him, and he held up his hands in surrender. “Fifteen seconds.” “Pull it away immediately, do you hear me?” Dorian told her, putting a finger under her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “I hear you,” she said, in little more than a whisper. “Quit worrying. At worst, it’s a little burn.” “A scar, Emma. And it’ll hurt for a very long time.” “Five seconds.” Everyone stilled. The sky outside began to lighten. “Now.”

- 316 -

The Third Kiss The sun crept over the horizon, bit by big orange bit, and rays of sunlight spanned out over New Orleans. Emma had acted brave, perhaps for the sake of those around her, but the truth was, she was terrified. Her hand shook where she held it out, entwined with Dorian’s. The sun’s rays crept higher, sending lines of light across the window seat. She tensed. A ray struck her hand. And it didn’t burn.

- 317 -