"Agent Renshaw is carrying a gun in a holster under her right arm," he told the cop. "Take it away from her and place it under your seat."

Kent reached into Chris's jacket, removed the nine millimeter, and stowed it beneath him.

"Thank you." Robin released his hold on Chris, who immediately went for the door handle and jumped out of the car.

She had crossed two hundred yards of uneven ground by the time Robin caught up and seized her from behind. He lifted her kicking and clawing into his arms.

"Please stop," he said as he subdued her. "I know you are frightened, but you must listen to me." She went still, and he continued. "Everyone I care for, as well as your partner, will die unless I can get the manuscript to the contessa by morning." He shifted his hands to her shoulders and caressed them, hoping his touch would reassure her. "I need your help to do this. You were given information that I must have."

"Go to hell." Chris spun around and tried to run again.

Robin tackled her to the ground and pinned her there, blocking out the smells of damp grass, soil, and car exhaust with his own scent. "Someone must have told you that I would try to steal the manuscript, or you would not have brought it to Atlanta. What name did he use?"

She stared at his mouth before she averted her face. "I'm not telling you a damn thing. Get off me."

She'd seen his dents acérées. "I shall not hurt you. Give me his name, Chris."

She remained silent, and after several attempts to persuade her to speak Robin lifted his weight from her and pulled her to her feet.

Officer Kent walked over to them, his eyes still darkened by the effects of l'attrait. "Do you need some help with her, sir?"

"This man is an international fugitive," Chris said to Kent, almost shrieking the words. "He is kidnapping me. Do something."

"Do not believe what she says," Robin told the officer. He saw a long black car slowing and pulling up behind the patrol car. "Return to your vehicle and your regular duties. You will forget me, this woman, and everything that has happened since you arrived at the gallery."

The patrolman nodded and wandered back to his car.

"How did you make him do that?" Chris demanded.

"I promise you, I shall explain everything when this is over." He turned to Will as his seneschal walked up to them. "Were you able to deal with all of them?"

He nodded. "I sent the police back on patrol; they were most obliging. Our friends in the department will see to any records. The guests are locked inside the building. They will sleep until dawn, and have no memory of the attack. The ice should be melted by then, and then our friends will go 'round and finish tidying up." He made a casual gesture toward Chris. "She is the only one left."

"You're not drugging me." Newly outraged, Chris struggled to break Robin's hold.

"Tell me his name," Robin said, "and I shall release you."

"Let me have her, my lord," Will said, unsheathing a dagger. "She will tell me what you wish to know."

Chris's eyes shifted to the blade in Will's hand and then to Robin's face. "His name was Paul Sherwood. Now let go of me."

"I said I would release you," Robin told her. "I did not say I would do it now." As she began fighting him again, he held on to her and turned to Will. "Be aware that l'attrait has no affect on her whatsoever. I am none too sure that our talent does, either."

"I could kill her," his seneschal offered. "That would solve the problem."

Robin felt Chris stiffen against him. "He is only joking." He could do nothing more with her here, out in the open. "Take us back to the penthouse."

Chris fell silent once more, but did not struggle or try to escape again. Robin could almost hear the intensity of her thoughts as Will drove them back to the Armstrong building.

Along the way his seneschal made use of his mobile phone to place several calls.

"She told the truth. A Paul Sherwood left Hartsfield-Jackson International on a chartered flight for Rome," Will said after he ended the final call. "The charter was paid for by a Helen Moran. Our people at the airport are examining their security tapes to see if this Sherwood matches Guisbourne's description."

"He will," Chris said unexpectedly, her voice dull. "Helen Moran manages the clothing shop next to the gallery."

"Thank you," Robin said.

"If he's left the country, there's nothing you can do," she said, her tone changing to urgent, almost wheedling. "Let me go, and I'll alert Interpol. They'll arrest him as soon as he steps off the plane in Rome." When he didn't reply, she added, "Robin, that book is priceless."

He had once thought the same, until the contessa had made her hideous threat. Now all he could think of were the men and women who had served him so well, and how much more they were worth to him.

Once Will parked at the building, Chris made one more abortive attempt to run. Weary of her tricks, Robin swept her off her feet and carried her inside.

In the elevator, Robin deposited Chris back on her feet before he pried the remnants of her handcuffs from his wrists and handed them to Will.

"Were there any of our Kyn who were not at the stronghold when Salva's men took over?" he asked his seneschal.

"Fazio, Mason, and Sullivan were on guard duty here. Sylas said to give his love to Rebecca, so I think his wife must have gotten some of the humans and the other women out before they could secure them."

Robin nodded. Since the jardin wars, when the families of the warriors left behind were attacked and slain, the women of the Kyn had been trained to protect themselves and the humans who served them during any conflict.

"Rebecca will bring them to our friends in Marietta before she attempts to contact us." She would have much to say about the contessa's betrayal as well. "As soon as she reports in, I shall speak to her."

"Should we not call on our allies for assistance, my lord?" Will asked as he pocketed the twisted steel remnants of the cuffs. "Suzeraina Jayr could have her garrison here in a matter of hours."

Jayr. The legacy of his love and shame.

"No. I do not wish the suzeraina involved in this." The doors opened and he stepped out into the hall, frowning when Chris did not. "You cannot stay in the elevator all night, love. There is no place to sit but the floor."

She didn't move. "You took those cuffs off like they were made of plastic. You can make cops—anyone—do anything. You've got fangs." She looked from him to Will. "What are you people?"

Will glanced at Robin. "I shall prepare some tea."

"Make it strong and sweet. Everything will be all right, Chris. Come." Robin stepped back into the elevator and gently guided her out of it. Once he had her inside the apartment, he brought her to the settee by the windows and sat down with her. "I am sorry. We take care to be completely discreet when we are among humans, but there has been no time for the usual precautions tonight."

"Humans." She seemed bemused. "You belong to another species? Is that just a human suit you're wearing?"

"We were human once, long ago." He looked out at the city lights. "Will and I and others like us were soldiers. We fought in wars for many years. 'Tis said that God cursed us for the atrocities we committed in His name, for when we returned to our homelands we fell ill and died. Three days later we dug our way out of the ground, alive but vastly changed. We were much stronger and a great deal harder to kill. Very little could harm us, and any wounds that could be inflicted on us healed instantly."

Her face had gone completely white. "So you're… a zombie."

"Ah, no." Now he would have to tell her the rest of it. "We are much like you, except in how we feed. Once changed, we could no longer eat or drink ordinary fare. We needed the blood of humans to survive."

"How do you need it?"

"We feed on it."

Her eyebrows arched. "So you think you're vampires."

"We do not… We are not vampires as you know them from your books and movies." Robin tried to think of how to explain the Darkyn to her. "We do not kill humans for their blood. We are not evil. Sunlight, garlic, crosses, and wooden stakes cannot harm us. Sunlight irritates our eyes and makes us weary, but it does not burn us or reduce us to ash. We live in the night."

"Like zombies."

He shook his head. "We are not dead. The Greeks called us vrykolakas, the undead. We call ourselves Darkyn."

"But you heal instantly, you have fangs, and you drink human blood," she said, and when he nodded, her mouth thinned. "Is this part of this game you're playing? Did you switch my handcuffs and put those fangs on to make me believe it's real?"

"This is not a game. It is real. I am real." She didn't look convinced. "Let me show you." He allowed his dents acérées to emerge, and opened his mouth.

Chris didn't scream, run away, or faint. She looked at him, her expression solemn, her eyes burning in her pale face. "I can't help you with this, Robin, but I know there are good doctors out there who can. I'd like to take you to see one of them. He's treated other people who think that they're special beings like you. Will you let me do that?"

She didn't believe him. She thought he was inventing the entire tale.

"I shall demonstrate how we heal." Robin drew out his dagger and handed it to her and began rolling up his sleeve.

"This is real," she said, turning the blade over in her hands. "It's beautifully made."

"Our flesh is resilient. Usually copper is the only metal that can pierce it." He extended his forearm. "Cut me." When she didn't move, he smiled. "Please do leave my hand attached. I'm rather fond of it."

Chris lunged, knocking him to the floor and holding the dagger to his throat. "What if I cut you here?" she asked, pressing the edge in. "Is that going to heal instantly, Dracula?"