"I should have"—smelled him—"known that he would come into the room." The mass of curls above her nape became a sodden tangle. "Do you feel ill?"

"I feel wet. And stupid."

Such head injuries made humans nauseous and dizzy. She might have a concussion. He could not leave her here like this, but how was he to get her to a hospital? In his condition, he could not drive her motorcycle.

"I'm okay." She gave him a weak push and tried to swing her legs out. "You shouldn't be carrying me."

"Wait." Feeling his own strength ebbing, Gabriel carried her to the bank, where he sat down with her on his lap. "What is your name, mademoiselle?"

"I told you. Nick."

Americans had an astonishing disregard for formality, as well as gender-confusing names. "Only Nick?"

"Nicola Jefferson. It's just Nick, okay?"

Nicola, Nicola. Gabriel rolled the syllables through his mind, polishing each one into a bright gem. "You have a lovely name."

"It fills in the dotted line." She touched the back of her head. "If you told me yours, I forgot it."

"I am very grateful." His control of her was uncertain; thus far he had been unable to wholly command her. Perhaps his physical weakness had limited the effect of l'attrait. "Why did you not go when I told you to do so?"

"I have this thing about leaving guys nailed to crosses in bricked-up rooms. Seems so rude." Her hand touched her forehead and she groaned. "I think I need to lie down."

Gabriel swept out his hand, finding a patch of lush, soft grass where he lowered her. "I owe you my life, Nicola Jefferson."

"Then call me Nick, and next time tell me to duck."

She didn't say anything for many minutes, and Gabriel sat beside her, using the silence to indulge his senses with her. He already knew the feel of her skin and hair, the honest simplicity of her scent.

Now he listened to her breathe in the dark, and heard the whisper of her garments as her chest rose and fell. Beneath her skin her blood rushed, young and strong, and he imagined tasting her.

Shame and hunger snarled inside him. He had been locked away from humans for too long; everything about her entranced him. Send her away now.

"Are there any other holy freaks besides Claudio here?" she asked him.

He had never smelled anyone else since Benait left, but that meant nothing. "I do not know." He hesitated. "Holy freaks?"

"I tried to think up another name, but 'pretend priests,' 'nutcases in cassocks,' and 'nasty pastors' didn't have the same ring." Nick tried to sit up and groaned again. "Jesus, what did he hit me with? A lead brick?"

"Stay where you are." He put his hand to her shoulder when she made another attempt to rise. "You are not yet well enough to walk." He would not be able to let her go, not in such a state. She might lose consciousness while riding her motorcycle, and kill herself on the road. Humans seemed so horribly fragile compared to Kyn.

"I don't think you're in any shape to carry me back to the village," Nick said, reminding him of his own sorry state. "Do I have to call you 'very grateful' every time I want your attention, or will you tell me your name?"

The one question his captors had never asked. The one answer he should not give her.

He wanted to hear her say it before she left him. "I am Gabriel."

"Gabriel. Very angelic. I like it." She shifted on the grass. "So what happens now, Gabriel? Are you going to walk off into the night to bite someone else, or do me like the old man first?"

"Either would be poor recompense for your efforts on my behalf." He heard an odd note in her voice, almost wistful, before what she said registered. Perhaps she was joking; modern humor often escaped him. "I do not bite."

"Sure you do. You're a vampire."

She knows. Gabriel sat silent for a full minute, trying to work his bruised thoughts around this. "How do you… Why do you say this?"

"Too late to fake being human; the fangs are a dead giveaway. I've met lots of vampires. You're not exactly like the others. I didn't see these on any of them." Cool fingers glided over one of his scars. "You feel like you're running a fever, too. Are you sick? Is that why they had you in that place?"

"I am only weak." Kyn body temperatures remained low until they fed, and then for a brief time they radiated intense heat. Her questions disturbed him. Her knowledge is incomplete; why? A tresora, even one in training, would not ask such things. "Do you serve my kind?"

"Uh, no. I'm more the self-serve type."

He needed to understand her. She knew enough about the Kyn to fear him, and yet she had risked her life to release him. Unless she had been compelled… "If you do not, why did you come here in search of me?"

"I wasn't looking for you," she said, stunning him anew. "I like to photograph old icons and churches. I keep finding vampires in them, though. I've tried to walk away in the past—you know, not my problem, that kind of thing? When I found out what they were doing to you, though, I just couldn't."

The trap. Claudio had mistaken her for the ring of thieves the Brethren were trying to capture. "How many others like me have you released?"

"I haven't kept count." Grass rustled under her weight. "Ten, fifteen maybe."

The Kyn could not track and find the imprisoned. She had to be exaggerating—or had some connection with the Brethren. "Do you know the men who imprison us? Do you follow them?"

"No. I'm good at finding things." She turned toward him. "Why do they do this stuff to you? Are they some kind of torture cult? Are you criminals? Why doesn't anyone in authority know about this?"

Kyn never trusted humans with knowledge of their existence and their nature. Neither did the Brethren. Yet this girl had somehow stumbled into the middle of their war and released the helpless prisoners of it. He would not repay her with silence.

"Those who imprisoned me are fanatics," he said. "They believe my kind are evil and demonic, and must be destroyed. They torture us for information about others like us."

She drew back. "Are you? An evil demon, I mean?"

"Some think that we were cursed because we are evil creatures, but I believe it was something else. Something in our time that we do not yet understand." Her silence made him add, "We have lived for many centuries. We depend on humans for blood as vampires do, but we do not harm them. We try to live in peace with you."

"So you don't have to kill someone to survive?"

"No."

"I thought so. I mean, none of the others tried to kill me. Not that I exactly waited around for them to have a go." Her voice changed, became softer. "I'm glad."

Gabriel bent his head, breathing in the delicious scent of her skin. He wanted to rub his hot face against her, feel the tender resilience of her flesh caressing him. He also knew he had no right to touch her, and that if he did the long denial of his captivity might very well end with her death and his enthrallment.

Command her before you are no longer able to send her away. "If you are steady enough to ride your motorcycle, Nicola, you must leave me now."

"Leave you? Here?"

The only protection she had against him was his own restraint. Others like him would not care… yet she implied that she had quickly left the others that she had released before him. She had not been bespelled; he could smell no trace of his kind on her skin—but any Kyn might have used l'attrait to command her to forget them.

"It is best." His questions would have to go unanswered. "I have been locked away and starved for a very long time. I do not trust myself."

"I'm tougher than I look, and I've been tapped before this." Her hand curled over his shoulder, gently guiding him down to her. "Go ahead. Just leave me a pint or two, okay?"

She was offering him blood. Freely, agreeably, as if a gift between friends. It humbled him. That his kind had used such generosity outraged him. "Not from you."

She pushed his hair back, tucking it behind his ear. "You know, you're the most polite vampire I've ever set free. Definitely the best-looking." Her thumb whispered across his bottom lip, so fast and light Gabriel thought he imagined it. "But your fangs are still out. You're wobbly. Take the blood."

She would not be so willing unless she was fully succumbing to his scent. "You have given enough." He could not evade her touch or push it away. He had dreamed of holding her too many times to resist. "Please move away from me now."

"I'm not afraid." She inched closer to him, brushing her body against his. "It doesn't upset me. I know you need blood to heal." She fit her hand to the back of his neck while she used the other to outline one of the scars on his chest. "I can't believe what they did to you. If I could find the one who did it, I'd kick his ass from here to next Tuesday."

"There were many. You would break your foot." Now she was seducing him with the enchantment of her voice, her presence, her compassion. He could not keep his hands from her. Was it possible in his current state to become enthralled? He needed to focus on something else. "How did you come to find this place, and me?"

"A painting, local superstition, and a few other things." She turned on her side to face him. "Do you know anything about the Golden Madonna? Did the holy freaks talk about her?"

"No. I have never heard of such a thing." She had mentioned her photography. "Is this Madonna an icon?"

"No. Just something that used to belong to my family. It was stolen, and I'd like to find it again." She sounded a little disappointed. "How long have they had you down there?"

"Can you tell me the date?"

She touched the watch on her wrist. "September fourteenth."