“I liked it better long.” She handed him the glass and took the scissors. Shadowed crescents rimmed her eyes, and he could almost feel how exhausted she was. “Sit down and let me do the back.”

Jamys sat and sipped from the glass, closing his eyes as the rejuvenating warmth of the bloodwine spread through him. His head felt oddly light without the length of his hair, and the gentle brush of Chris’s fingers soothed him.

“It’ll probably grow back in a day,” she said as she snipped. “I wish mine would. Last year I went blond, huge mistake, and then I tried to dye it over with this gorgeous purple color. It ended up the color of sewer sludge.”

He drained the glass and set it aside, but the taste lingered on his lips. He needed to leave and hunt, but Chris’s luscious scent filled his head. When she came around to stand in front of him, he latched on to her wrist.

“Ouch.” She grimaced. “Little sore there.”

He turned her wrist over and saw the stained bandage she’d wrapped around it, and then looked at her pale face. What have you done?

“I kinda lied to you. I don’t keep any bloodwine in the fridge for Sam.” She tried to smile. “It’s okay. I’ve got plenty, and you needed the boost.”

She’d bled herself for him. If he could have cursed, he would have. He lifted her into his arms and carried her out, looking this way and that until he found the room where she slept.

“This is nice,” Chris murmured as he placed her on her bed. “Just like in the movies.” When he tried to straighten, she tugged on his shirt. “I’m cold.”

He wasn’t, not with the force of her blood coursing through him. He eased down beside her, gathering her close and pulling the black-and-white geometric bedspread over her shivering body.

“I’d really love to have sex with you,” she whispered, “but I think I’m going to be criminally stupid and pass out now.” Her eyelids slowly closed, and her body relaxed.

He checked her bandage to make sure she hadn’t cut herself too deeply, then rose from the bed to stand at the window. Sunrise was only a few minutes away.

He glanced at the telephone on the bedside table. He needed to warn Lucan about the Kyn who had come here, but even if he could speak, he doubted they would believe what he told them.

Behind him, Chris whimpered, and Jamys went to her. He placed a hand on her forehead. All will be well, my little friend, he lied to her. Forget what has happened tonight and rest now.

Jamys woke from the dream slowly, roused by the setting of the sun. He could hear the sound of water splashing from Christian’s shower, and glanced at the empty space beside him before he rose and left the bedroom. She would want privacy to dress and groom herself, and as much as he would have liked to help her, he doubted her clothes would stay on for very long.

Thanks to her he had rested in a deep state for the entire day; now he felt ready to begin the search for the emeralds in earnest. He would have to speak to Lucan about taking Christian with him, but he expected no difficulty in obtaining the suzerain’s permission.

Nothing seemed impossible now.

Chris had called him her friend, but she had saved his e-mails as if they were treasures. She did care for him and, he suspected, not only as a friend. It made him feel hope as he never before had.

He found a bottle of bloodwine in her refrigerator, and drank a glass as he rummaged about in the kitchen. When Chris emerged from the bedroom, he had a pot of tea and a plate of fruit, cheese, and bread waiting for her.

“Hey.” She surveyed the table. “You didn’t have to make me food.”

“You need to eat.” She smelled of citrus and flowers, and damp tendrils of her hair curled all around her face. “I would have prepared a hot meal, but I have never cooked.”

“I mostly nuke stuff anyway. This is really nice.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “Do you want to use the shower before we head out?”

He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her back to the bed, this time not to sleep. “Yes, thank you.”

Once Jamys had showered and dressed, Lucan’s private car had arrived downstairs, and took them back to the stronghold.

“I need to finish up a couple of things,” Chris said after they arrived at the club. “Meet you in the suite in thirty minutes?”

Jamys nodded. As soon as she had gone, he went to the suzerain’s office, where he found Lucan in conversation with his tresora.

“When she asks, my lord—”

“You will lie to her, Herbert. Or, if you find yourself incapable of such a heinous act, you will feign ignorance of my activities.” After Lucan inserted a clip into a semiautomatic pistol, he said to Jamys, “My apologies, Durand. I have an urgent appointment to keep.”

The scent of night-blooming jasmine hung heavily in the air, but so did another odor. Jamys couldn’t identify it as he breathed it in, but he felt it crackling like icy fire in his lungs, and exhaled quickly.

“At least take your guards, my lord,” Burke said to Lucan, his tone almost pleading.

The suzerain eyed his tresora. “The bitch that whelped me has been dead for well on seven centuries, Herbert. I do not require a new mother.”

Jamys offered a polite bow. “May I join you, Suzerain?”

“Nor do I need a boy to trot after me.” He tucked the gun inside his jacket. “Burke, look after Jamys until Christian reports for duty, will you?”

Jamys got between Lucan and the door and, when the big man approached him, looked up into his eyes. The ghost gray irises had expanded, reducing his pupils to thin black slivers; a direct indication of the extent of his agitation. Lucan reached to adjust the medallion hanging from the thick gold chain around his neck, running his thumb over the cross in the center of it.

“Excuse me.” Lucan strode around him.

The tresora almost followed the big man out before he paused at the threshold and stepped back.

“No good will come of this,” Burke muttered to himself before he turned to Jamys. “Forgive me, my lord. The suzerain meant no insult; he is . . . in one of his moods. Would you care to take a tour of the underground levels? I don’t believe they had been finished during your previous visit.”

Jamys nodded at the door. “Where has Lucan gone?”

Burke looked uncomfortable. “The suzerain prefers that I keep his business concerns confidential.”

Jamys reached out and removed Burke’s spectacles, and showed him the crack bisecting one lens. “Bad business, I think.”

“So do I.” The tresora grimaced as he took the glasses and pocketed them, and then went and closed the door. “My lord, my oath to Lord Alenfar prevents me from voluntarily giving you the information you desire. I am also immune to l’attrait.” His expression grew hopeful. “However, were you to use your gift to compel me . . .”

Jamys nodded, and rested his hand against Burke’s neck. You wish to tell me where Lucan is going, and why.

“The master has learned that a casino owner named Dutch sent roses to the lady Samantha’s workplace,” Burke said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality.

The door behind them opened and closed, and Chris joined them. “What are you doing?”

“Wait.” Jamys nodded to Burke.

“My lord then intercepted a texted invitation from this man for Lady Samantha to meet him tonight at an abandoned dockside bar called ‘the Turtle’s Nest.’” The tresora sighed. “He destroyed her mobile and told her nothing. He goes there now to confront Dutch and, I fear, kill him.”

“Jesus Christ.” Chris went to the desk. “I’ll call up to Samantha.”

“No.” Jamys released Burke to put his hand over Chris’s on the receiver. “I will go and stop him.”

“Stop him?” Chris chuffed out some air. “I’m sorry, but you can’t.”

Did she think he was helpless, like his father? “It is what a warrior does.”

“It’s what a crazy person does,” Chris corrected. “There are two things on the planet that make Lucan go postal. Brethren, and anyone trying to hurt Samantha. I’m not kidding,” she added. “You know the guy who shot her? Lucan touched him with one hand and he exploded. Literally. They had to mop him off the walls.”

Jamys put his hands on Chris’s shoulders. There is something wrong about this, Christian. Lucan insisted on going alone. There was a strangeness to his scent.

Chris bit her bottom lip. “One of the girls up front told me that last night he went to the lists and got into a sword match. Beat the crap out of the guy, too. He never does things like that.”

He saw the panic in her eyes. What are you thinking?

“Whatever is going on here, it’s not about Sam, or he’d be going after her, the way Dwyer did. This guy wants something else.” She took in a quick breath. “I think Lucan could be walking into a trap.”

Samantha’s safety would serve as excellent bait. He removed his hands. “I must go after him.”

“I’m driving you.” When he started to reply, she glared. “You don’t know where the Turtle’s Nest is, and you don’t know how to drive. I do.” She took a set of keys from Burke’s pocket. “He’s your friend, Jamys, but he’s my lord. This is my job; let me do it.”

He might have compelled her to think otherwise, but it would take more time they didn’t have. “Very well.” He reached out to Burke one more time. You will remember none of what you have told me here.

Burke’s expression blanked and, when Jamys withdrew his hand, grew puzzled. “Lord Durand, Christian, good evening.” He glanced around. “Did you, ah, need something?”

“We’re good,” Chris told him. “I’m going to borrow your car and take Lord Durand for a ride around town, okay?”

“Of course.” Burke smiled as he reached into his pocket, and then frowned. “Oh, dear. I seem to have misplaced my keys.”