God, if anyone had touched her -

If anything had happened to her...

"Gabrielle!"

Lucan followed his senses down to the basement level of her apartment. He didn't bother with lights; his vision was most acute in the dark. Tearing down the stairs, he called her name into the quiet.

At the back corner of the space, Gabrielle's scent grew strongest. Lucan found himself standing before another closed door, this one framed in thick weatherstripping to block out all exterior light. He tried the latch, rattling the door on its meager lock.

"Gabrielle. Can you hear me? Baby, open the door."

He didn't wait for a reply. He didn't have the patience for that, or the focus to carefully release the hook and eye closure on the other side. With a growl of fury, Lucan smashed his shoulder into the door and burst inside.

His eyes instantly found her in the lightless space. Her body was curled up on the floor of the cramped darkroom, naked except for a skimpy lace bra and bikini underwear. She jerked awake with the sudden crash of his arrival.

Her head came up fast. Her eyelids were heavy, puffed from recent crying. She'd been sobbing in here, and for some length of time by his guess. Exhaustion poured off her in waves. She looked so small, so vulnerable.

"Ah, God. Gabrielle," he whispered, dropping into a low crouch beside her. "What the hell are you doing in here? Did somebody hurt you?"

She shook her head, but didn't answer right away. With dragging hands, she pushed her hair out of her face, trying to find him in the dark. "Just... tired. I needed quiet... peace."

"So you locked yourself down here?" He blew out a sharp breath, relieved, except for the fact that her body did bear injuries that had only recently stopped bleeding. "You're sure you're all right?"

She nodded, listing toward him in the dark.

Scowling, Lucan reached for her, smoothed his palm over the top of her head. She seemed to take his touch as an invitation, crawling into his arms like a child in need of comforting and warmth. It wasn't good, how natural it felt to hold her, how strong the inclination was to reassure her that she was safe with him. That he would protect her as his own.

His own.

Impossible, he reminded himself. More than impossible; it was ludicrous.

He looked down, silently considering the soft bundle of warm, beautiful woman wrapped around him in a delicious state of near nakedness. She couldn't have any inkling of the dangerous world she was now involved in - not least of all, from the deadly vampire male who held her against him now.

He was the last one who should offer a Breedmate protection from harm. With Gabrielle, just the faintest scent of her brought his blood hunger raging into the danger zone. He stroked her neck and shoulder, trying to ignore the steady beat of her pulse beneath his fingertips. He had to fight like hell to ignore the memory of when he'd last been with her, or how badly he needed to have her again.

"Mmm, you feel good," she murmured dazedly into his chest, her voice a sleep-heavy purr that sent a jolt of heat down his spine. "This another dream?"

Lucan groaned, incapable of answering. It wasn't a dream, and personally he didn't feel good at all. He felt every bit the ancient, haggard beast as she nestled into him even more, all tender trust and innocence.

Searching for distraction, he found one all too quickly. A glance up over their heads made every muscle in his body go rigid with a new kind of tension.

His eyes locked onto more of Gabrielle's photographs clipped to a drying line in the darkroom. Hanging among various other insignificant shots were a handful more taken of vampire locations.

For God's sake, she even had a photograph of the warriors' compound. The daylight shot had been taken from the road outside the secured estate. There was no mistaking the enormous, scrolled wrought-iron gate that blockaded the long drive, and the high-security mansion at its end, from the public at large.

Gabrielle must have been standing right outside the property to take this picture. Based on the leafy summer foliage of the surrounding trees, the image couldn't be more than a few weeks old. She'd been there, just a few hundred yards from where he lived.

He had never been one to subscribe to the notion of fate, but it seemed pretty damned clear that one way or another this female was meant to cross his path.

Oh, yeah. Cross it like a black cat.

Just his luck that after centuries of dodging cosmic bullets and messy emotional entanglements, the twisted sisters of fate and reality would decide to put him on their shit lists at the same time.

"It's all right," he told Gabrielle, even though things were quickly progressing way south of that point. "Let's get you upstairs and dressed, then we'll talk." Before the continued sight of her in those flimsy scraps of lace and satin did him in.

Lucan gathered her into his arms, then carried her out of the darkroom and up the stairs to the main floor. Holding her this close, his keen senses registered the details of the sundry wounds she bore: raw scrapes on her hands and knees, evidence of a pretty vicious fall.

She had been running away from something - or someone - in terror when she had taken a spill. Lucan's blood boiled to know who had caused this harm, but there would be time for that soon. Gabrielle's comfort and well-being was his primary concern now.

Lucan walked with her through her living room, to the steps to her bedroom loft. His intent was to help her into some clothes, but as he passed the adjoining bathroom, he mentally flipped on the water. The two of them really needed to talk, and things probably would go down a bit easier for her after she'd had a warm soak.

With Gabrielle's arms wrapped around his shoulders, Lucan carried her into the bathroom. A small nightlight gave off an ambient glow, just enough illumination for his liking. He brought his languid armload over to the tub and seated himself on the edge, balancing Gabrielle in his lap.

He unsnapped the front closure on the wispy piece of satin, baring her breasts to his suddenly fevered eyes. His hands itched to touch her, so he did, brushing his fingertips along the buoyant curves, flicking his thumb over the dusky pink of her nipples.

God help him, the soft mewl of pleasure that curled up from her throat hardened his cock to painful degrees.

He skimmed his palm down her torso, to the matching scrap of glossy fabric that covered her sex. His hands were too large, too careless with the flimsy satin, but he somehow managed to peel the panties off and slide them down Gabrielle's long legs.

Blood surged through him like molten lava at the sight of her, nude before him once more.

Maybe he should feel guilty for finding her so incredibly desirable even in her current vulnerable state, but he wasn't much better at bowing to shame than he was at playing the nurturer. And he'd already proven to himself that trying to muster any kind of control around this particular female was a battle he might never win.

Next to the tub sat a bottle of liquid bubble bath. Lucan poured a generous dollop under the stream of running water. As the lather built, he carefully eased Gabrielle down into the warm bath. She moaned with clear appreciation as she sank into the foaming water, her limbs going visibly slack, her shoulders drooping against the towel Lucan quickly supplied as a cushion to keep her back from resting against cold tile and porcelain.

The small bathroom was filled with steam and Gabrielle's own faintly jasmine scent.

"Comfortable?" he asked her, as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the pedestal sink.

"Mmm," she moaned.

He couldn't resist putting his hands on her. With a gentle caress of her shoulder, he said, "Slide farther down and wet your hair. I'll wash it for you."

She obeyed, letting him guide her head under the water, then back up, her long ginger tresses darkened to a sleek auburn. She was silent for a long moment, then she slowly lifted her eyelids, smiling at him as if she had just come back to consciousness and was surprised to find him there. "Hi."

"Hi."

"What time is it?" she asked around a stretch and a stifled yawn.

Lucan shrugged. "Around eight, I guess."

Gabrielle sank back against the tub, closing her eyes with a moan.

"Bad day?"

"Not one of my best."

"So I gathered. Your hands and knees are a little worse for wear." Lucan reached over and turned off the water. He grabbed a tube of shampoo from nearby and squeezed some into his hands. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

"I'd rather not." A crease formed between her slim brows. "I did something stupid this afternoon. You'll hear all about it soon enough, I'm sure."

"How so?" Lucan asked, working up the lather in his palms.

As he massaged the thick foam into her scalp, Gabrielle opened one eye and slid him a sideways glance. "The kid from the station didn't say anything to anyone?"

"What kid?"

"The one who clerks down at the precinct house. Tall, lanky, kind of average-looking? I don't know his name, but I'm pretty certain he was there the night I gave my statement about the murder. Today I saw him in the Common. I thought he was watching me, actually, and I..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I ran after him like a crazy person, accusing him of spying on me."

Lucan's hands stilled in her hair, his warrior's instincts coming to full attention. "You what?"

"I know," she said, obviously misinterpreting his reaction. She dispersed a mound of bubbles with a sweep of her hand. "I told you it was stupid. Anyway, I chased the poor kid all the way into Chinatown."

Although he didn't say as much, Lucan knew that Gabrielle's initial instincts had been spot-on about the stranger watching her in the park. Since the incident had occurred in broad daylight, it couldn't have been the Rogues - a small blessing - but the humans who served them could be equally dangerous. The Rogues employed Minions in all corners of the world, humans enslaved by a draining bite of a powerful vampire that rid them of their conscience and free will, leaving only unquestioning obedience in its wake.

Lucan had no doubt whatsoever that the man who had been observing Gabrielle was doing so in service to a Rogue who commanded him.

"Did this person hurt you? Is that how you got those injuries?"

"No, no. That was my own doing. I got myself all freaked out over nothing. After losing track of the kid in Chinatown, I just lost it. I thought a car was coming after me, but it wasn't."

"How can you be sure?"

She gave him a sheepish look. "Because it was the mayor, Lucan. I thought his chauffeured car was coming after me and I started running. To top off a perfectly awful day, I fell flat on my face in the middle of a crowded sidewalk and then had to limp home with bloodied hands and knees."

He cursed under his breath, realizing just how close she had come to danger. For chrissake, she had actually gone after the Minion by herself. The thought chilled Lucan more than he'd like to admit.

"You need to promise me you'll be more careful," he said, knowing he was scolding but unwilling to bother with politeness when she might have gotten herself killed today. "If something like this happens again, you need to tell me right away."

"It's not going to happen again because it was my mistake. And I wasn't about to call you or anyone else at the station about this. Wouldn't they just love it if I phoned in to report that one of their file clerks was stalking me for no apparent reason?"

Shit. His lie about being a cop was tripping him up damned good now. Even worse, it might have put her in jeopardy if she'd called the station looking for "Detective Thorne" and attracted the attention of an embedded Minion instead.

"I'm going to give you my cell phone number. You can always reach me there. I want you to use it anytime, understand?"

She nodded as Lucan turned on the faucet, then ran clear water into his hands and over her silky, burnished waves.

Frustrated with himself, he grabbed a washcloth from an overhead shelf and thrust it down into the water. "Now let me see your knee."

She lifted her leg from under the flotilla of bubbles. Lucan held her foot in one palm, carefully washing the angry-looking abrasion. It was just a scrape, but it was bleeding again now that the warm water had soaked the wound. Lucan ground down hard on his jaw as the fragrant, scarlet threads wove a delicate trail down her skin and into the pristine foam of the bath.

He finished cleansing both of her injured knees, then gestured for her to let him attend her palms next. He didn't trust his voice to work when the combined one/two punch of Gabrielle's nude body and the scent of her fresh, trickling blood was slamming into his skull like a jackhammer.

With an economy of attention, he dabbed at the scrapes on her palms, painfully aware of her rich, dark gaze following his every movement, the pulse at her wrist beating quickly under the pressure of his fingertips.

She wanted him, too.

Lucan started to release her, but as her arm twisted slightly on its retreat, he spotted something troubling. His eyes lit at once on a series of faint marks that spoiled the flawless peach skin. The marks were scars, tiny slices cut into the underside of her forearms. And she had more on her thighs.

Razor cuts.

As if she'd endured repeated and hellish torture when she was little more than a girl. "Jesus Christ." He swiveled his head back to look at her, fury no doubt rampant in his expression. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not what you think."

He was fuming now, not about to let this one slide. "Tell me."

"It's nothing, really. Just forget - "

"Give me a name, goddamn it, and I swear, I will kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands - "

"I did it," she blurted out in a quiet rush of breath. "It was me. No one did this, just me."