Moving silently into the hall, he crossed to climb the narrow stairs that would lead to the small garret. He had discovered that his window offered a fine view of the streets, and it was the most reasonable spot to keep guard over the household. And it also allowed him to give some rest to his earthly form.

With his wits distracted by thoughts of Jocelyn, he had reached the door to his chamber, when he belatedly realized there was a faint scent in the air that could come from only one source.

Instantly on the alert, Lucien slipped the dagger from beneath his coat and held it firmly in his hand. A vampire was near. And he could think of only one vampire who would be awaiting him in the garret.

With caution he pushed the door to his rooms open and stepped within. Although the narrow chamber was cloaked in darkness, his sight was easily able to penetrate the shadows. His brows tugged together as he realized that there was nothing to be seen.

"Amadeus," he growled in low tones, moving farther into the room. "I know that you are here. Show yourself."

A faint shimmer of mist suddenly appeared in a distant corner, and Lucien carefully hid the dagger behind his back. He did not trust the traitor. If Amadeus had become desperate, Lucien did not doubt for a moment Amadeus would do whatever necessary to rid himself of Lucien's unwelcome presence.

"Show your black soul," he commanded roughly, watching the mist advance.

There was no response, and an odd premonition sent a trickle of ice down his spine.

Amadeus possessed the power of mist-walking, but there was something wrong. This mist was thickening as it approached, and darkening to charcoal color.

Lucien slowly backed away, remaining before the door to ensure whatever was within the mist was not allowed to leave the chamber. He could not let this threat reach Jocelyn. No matter what he had to do.

Coming to a halt, Lucien held the dagger before him. The mist began to spread, becoming a wall of thick fog. He sought to peer through the heavy shroud, but it was impossible. That sense of impending doom deepened as the mist neared, and Lucien fought the urge to rush back through the door.

Whatever this was, he must somehow halt it.

Jocelyn must be kept safe.

That was all that mattered.

Like a thick, icy blanket, the fog slipped about him, and Lucien discovered himself firmly trapped. The dagger fell from his hand as the chill cut straight to his heart and a moan of pain was wrenched from his throat.

Bloody hell.

It was a mist wraith. A spell that had once been in the command of the vampires but had been banished from the world centuries before. It was far too dangerous to all vampires.

At the moment it merely held him in its tentacles. Once it had gained command of him, however, it would feed upon his spirit until he was nothing more than an empty shell.

Lucien closed his eyes and battled to fight the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. To struggle would only hasten his demise. The creature would feast upon his heightened emotions.

Only by remaining calm could he hope to discover a means of escape.

Calm... Great Nefri.

Eleven

Jocelyn paced the cramped quarters of her bedchamber with uneven steps. Perhaps absurdly, she had hoped that being away from the disturbing presence of Lucien would ease her troubled heart.

Instead, it had only darkened her already black mood.

Vampires? Magical Medallions? Old gypsies who weren't gypsies at all?

It was enough to drive any poor maiden mad.

But while her mind reeled with the effort to accept that vampires were not simply creatures of the imagination but real and living beneath her roof, in her mind it was Lucien's betrayal that lingered.

Dear heavens, she had shared dinner with him, laughed with him, played games with him . . .

shared passion with him.

She had opened her past and revealed all the betrayal she had endured. She had opened her heart.

And she had given her trust.

And that was what hurt the most.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. What was the matter with her?

A man was in her home, claiming to be a mythological vampire. There was a deranged killer out on the streets, attempting to force her to hand over a Medallion that supposedly held the fate of the vampires. A Medallion that was altering her in a manner she could not even comprehend.

And all she could think of was her disappointment that Lucien was not the gentleman she had thought him to be.

Her near-hysterical laugh echoed through the room, and she pressed her hands to her face.

Perhaps she was going mad. It would certainly be the preferable explanation for the horrid day.

Preferable certainly to the thought that the man she loved was a vampire.

Reaching the narrow window, she pressed her cheek to the cool pane and closed her eyes.

She should be thinking of what she intended to do. All too soon it would be morning, and she would be forced to face Lucien once again. She needed to consider whether she intended to demand that he leave her home or to accept his claim that he must be near to protect her.

At the moment neither option seemed bearable.

Having him near and yet knowing deep within that everything about him had been a lie was bound to be painful. Then again, if there were a traitorous vampire stalking her, did she truly desire to face him on her own?

She heaved a sigh, wishing only to lie upon the narrow bed and put all of her troubles behind her. Come the morning, she might even manage to convince herself that this was all no more than a ghastly nightmare.

"Miss Kingly."

The muffled sound of her name being called had Jocelyn abruptly opening her eyes. Dazed by the unexpected intrusion into her thoughts, she scanned the empty garden. There was nothing to be seen for a moment, and then, unbelievably, the slender shape of a young lad stepped from behind a bush.

"Thomas," she breathed as she hurriedly fumbled with the latch and threw up the sash.

"What is it?"

The urchin stepped forward into a shaft of moonlight to reveal a heavy bandage around his hand. "There was trouble at the warehouse. I need your help."

"Dear heavens. Do not move," she commanded in urgent tones. "I will be down in a moment."

"Please, you must hurry," he called.

There was no need for his urging as she hastily turned to rush from her chamber and down the narrow flight of stairs. Poor Thomas. He always seemed so swaggeringly confident. So invincible. So very wise. It was quite easy to forget he was just a little boy. And now he had been harmed. It was insupportable.

She moved to the back of the house and used the kitchen door to lead her into the garden.

She nearly tumbled over her skirts in her haste, until at last she gave a hiss of impatience and hauled them well above her ankles to rid herself of their annoying tendency to cling.

Only when she had actually left the house and entered the dark shadows of the night did she take note of the odd chill in the air. Only moments before she had been smothering in the unusual summer heat; now she could not ignore the prickles that raced over her skin.

It was very strange, but she did not allow herself to be distracted. Thomas was in need of her help and she could not fret over a sudden coldness in the air.

Coming to a halt beside the waiting lad, she gently took his arm in her hands.

"Oh, Thomas, what has occurred?"

He gave a faint sniff as he attempted to be brave. "A horrid man forced his way into the warehouse. I could not halt him, Miss Kingly. I am sorry."

Jocelyn caught her breath in horror. Was it the traitorous vampire that Lucien had warned her of? Had he concluded that slaying poor prostitutes was not as desirable as harming innocent children? The thought was enough to make her heart stop in fear.

"No, Thomas, you should not even have attempted such a thing," she said in appalled tones.

"I cannot see to your injuries here. We must go inside."

Without warning he pulled his arm from her grasp, his grimy face set in lines of determination.

"No."

"Thomas, do not be stubborn. You must have those wounds cleaned or they will fester."

"Not yet." His eyes appeared feverishly bright in the silver moonlight. "The man is still at the warehouse."

"What?" she breathed in shock.

"He has Annie."

"No." Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Is she harmed?"

"No, but the bugger has threatened to kill her."

Jocelyn struggled to think through the sudden cloud of terror that filled her mind. Not an easy task with the image of the tiny, fragile child in the hands of a bloodthirsty monster burning before her eyes.

Every instinct urged her to rush to the warehouse and save the little girl. It was her nature to attempt to protect those who depended upon her.

Only that sternly practical part of her nature that had saved her upon so many occasions kept her feet from mindlessly fleeing down the street. She could not face this monster on her own.

Regardless if he were merely crazed or a vampire, she needed help.

"We must go to Mr. Ryan," she abruptly decided. Surely he was the logical choice. He was the only one in the position to put a final end to this villain. "He will be able to take this monster away."

Thomas gave a violent shake of his head, his expression fearful. "No, you cannot. The man said as you was to come alone."