“You keep on that road, I won’t let you finish.”

“Aye, ye will. Because I need to say it.” Niall held his gaze. “Over the years, you’ve had your pleasure of me, taken my pain as part of it.” His lip curled. “That’s your way. I’ve seen you . . . watch me, study me, as if ye were trying to figure something out. I finally understand, Evan. I had to step out of what I am and into what you are, but then it all made sense.”

Rising, he came to Evan, dropped to one knee in front of the bench where he sat. Though his palms burned with the desire to take, to touch, Evan forced himself to remain still, curious as to where his servant was going with it. Reaching out, Niall touched his face, startling him with the gentle possessiveness and authority in the touch.

“It’s not about wanting someone to love you the way you love them. It’s about knowing in your soul when they’re loving ye with all their ability to love and more, pushing themselves further than they thought they could go, whatever shape or form that is, and realizing what a gift that is. Though it’s a guid long life, it’s never long enough for any of us to refuse love when offered. Sic as ye gie, sic wull ye get.”

You’ll get out of life as much as you put in. Evan was at a loss for words, such that those brown eyes were suddenly dancing, the hard mouth easing. “Not much ye can say, is it? I’m still your servant. If ye tell me you’d be happy to die for me, all that means is you’d be happy to murder me.”

“Ass.” Evan shoved at his shoulder. Niall fended him off, though he caught Evan’s forearm and held on to it, large fingers curling into Evan’s flesh. They stayed that way a moment, Evan staring at the point of contact, feeling every inch of pressure tingling through his nerves. Niall hadn’t put on a shirt, so his hand was on that first dragon, fingertips on the third mark. The chai symbol, the sign of life.

“Set me as a seal upon thy heart . . . for love is as strong as death; jealousy is as cruel as the grave: the coals of it are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.”

He lifted his gaze to Niall’s face, and the power of the man’s glance burned like that flame. “King Solomon.”

“I ken my Bible,” Niall said, a mild reproof.

“Yes. I’ve loved you, no matter all of it,” Evan said quietly. “Uthe wanted to know if immortality could steal inspiration. It didn’t. But to lose both of you, to lose the stubborn, rockheaded Scot who’s been my constant companion, my friend, my servant, for three hundred years, and to lose the woman who brought the wall down between us, at the same time? My art wouldn’t survive that, Niall. I’m not supposed to influence your decision, but I will tell you the truth. Your loss will do what nothing else can. It will take away my desire to live.”

Niall swallowed hard, his hand coming up to clasp Evan’s wrist. “I gave ye a hard time about forcing Alanna outside her comfort zone. Making her become more than she was, despite the short time she had left. I was wrong about that. But it did make me wonder. I know why you’re with me now. But why, all those years ago, did you follow me? Care for my family? Give me the time with them?”

“Lord Uthe told me I see things others can’t see, and I try to put it in a language the rest understand better.” Evan shrugged. “I’m not sure about that, but there are things I see, feel, in your soul. I can’t articulate them, but I follow them, the same way I follow the muse, not really understanding, but hoping, thinking, believing, that if I follow a certain path, things will unfold as they should.”

“And you determine what that ‘should’ is?”

“No.” Evan shook his head. “Not like you’re thinking. I don’t even know the outcome. I just know that way lies the masterpiece. If I’m wrong, then it’s a discarded film or canvas. Or the loss of a lost soul. But it’s better to fight for a lost soul than to leave it lost. That’s one thing I’m sure of.”

Hesitating almost like Niall had, that first time he’d touched Alanna after she woke, Evan at last curved his fingers into Niall’s hair, needing to stroke, to touch, to hold. Niall tilted his head enough to show he welcomed the caress, and Evan knew he wouldn’t restrain himself much longer. If Niall had given him the answer he thought he had, he wanted his mouth on his.

Like Alanna had done to him, Niall slid his grip to Evan’s hand, brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips hard against his knuckles.

“Niall . . .” He was going to lose control, crush the fragrant flower beds with the weight of Niall’s body, his own on top of it. Lyssa might have given him the two things he most wanted, but she’d end up eviscerating him over her mangled pansies.

The Scot lifted his head. “Outside of the times when we were with other vampires, and it was required, I never called you Master. I guess you understood that.”

Yes. He’d never demanded from Niall what came so naturally to Alanna’s lips, and soon it wouldn’t apply. Not that it had ever been an easy fit.

“You encouraged her to see us both as her Master. You’ve been planning this awhile.”

“Well, not her part of it, but I wrote the first letter to Uthe about turning you six months ago, when I noticed you sleeping more.” Evan ran his knuckles along Niall’s jaw, paused there, just holding that touch, pressing against his jaw with the sudden surge of feeling.

Niall put his hand over his. “Evan.”

Evan shook his head. “Let me get this part out. If you choose to become vampire, your will is your own. You’re free to be with me or leave, as you desire. You served the oath I imposed, but I will never impose another on you.”

“Like you could. Skinny Jewish kid.”

Evan smiled, but there was a pain in his heart. “You owe me an answer.”

Niall nodded. “What’s that name you call me?” he asked.

“Neshama.”

“Aye. Neshama. Your soul. Well, your soul never leaves ye, does it? It is what ye are.” Niall’s jaw tightened. “I’ve picked up a bit of Hebrew myself over the years. Moreh . . . teacher. Or adon . . . Master.”

Niall beat him to it. Before Evan could initiate anything, he was tasting his Master’s mouth, demanding, delving in, giving him everything he wanted for this moment . . . almost.

Digging his fingers into the Scot’s long, thick hair, Evan gave as good as he got, but at a certain point, he let Niall take the lead, because he was savoring the feel of it, Niall wanting him. When the man lifted his head, his mouth was cut where his passion had brought Evan’s fangs into it. Evan licked off the blood, sucking on the lip enough to cause a rumble in Niall’s throat.

“Adon technically means ‘lord’.” He spoke against Niall’s mouth. “I’m not one of those.”

“Depends on who ye ask.” Niall closed his hand on Evan’s wrist, and the two men held there, Evan tilting his head so they were eye to eye. “I’m here, Evan. My body, my soul . . . and my heart. They’re yours. I give them to you freely, and ye’ll never have to ask for them again.”

Evan swallowed twice, vowing he’d knock himself unconscious before allowing tears to fill his eyes. Niall’s tawny gaze narrowed, his fingers brushing Evan’s face. “I didnae . . . I didnae think it mattered to you. Not that much.”

“Very few things matter more,” Evan said tightly.

“Aye.” Niall let his fingers slide down Evan’s sternum, dipping into the open collar of his shirt and slipping several buttons to caress his bare flesh. “I’m hard and ready here . . . Master. I want ye. All of ye. And I want to take.”

His gaze was suddenly fierce and burning, his meaning clear. Evan felt his testicles draw up at the thought of it. So many years, and it was something he’d never offered his servant. Despite Niall calling him Master, it didn’t feel like he was asking. Instead it was somewhere between harsh begging and adamant demand, Niall’s constant ability to straddle the line between servant and something entirely not-servant.

Evan dipped his head, barely a shift of motion. Niall slipped the other buttons, pushed the shirt off Evan’s shoulders, but left it there as he traced the pale lines of Evan’s collarbone, down his chest, over a nipple. Evan’s fangs unsheathed, his bloodlust rising as his instincts perceived the challenge, the emotional intensity of it. Niall leaned in, putting his mouth to Evan’s throat. As he did, Evan banded an arm around his shoulders, holding him fast. He let out a growl of his own as Niall bit down hard enough to draw blood, to taste him.

He stroked over Evan’s ribs, down to his waistband, working at the belt, sliding it through, opening the slacks. Male impatience took over, such that when his grip closed over him, Evan caught his hair, pulling his head to the side so he could sink his fangs into that delectable throat, drink deep. His servant. His lover. His friend.

He wanted Niall as well, wanted him with that fierceness the Scot understood now, with his heart just as open. Rising, he drew them both up, and when Evan retracted his fangs, licking the blood off his lips, Niall tugged him over to a patch of soft grass. He worked his way around Evan, tasting his throat, trailing his mouth over his shoulders, his hands sliding into the loose waistband of the slacks to caress his hips. As he pulled Evan back against his broad chest with an arm banded around his chest, he reached into the slacks and underwear to scrape his upper thigh with his nails, close to Evan’s rising cock.

“Fuck, Niall.” Restraining his natural desire to dominate gave the moment an edge sharp as a knife blade, but Evan held back. He wanted to experience his servant unleashing a passion he’d kept pent up for far too long.

Niall took them both down to their knees, pressing himself up behind Evan, then shifted away to nip down his spine, tracing it with his tongue as he tugged the slacks off Evan’s hips. He didn’t waste time, immediately cupping Evan’s ass in rough squeezing hands, thumbs teasing the seam. When he pushed Evan forward, wanting him on his hands, Evan might have resisted, except Niall’s heated, moist mouth was suddenly on his rim, licking and working into him, an indescribable sensation that sent his cock jacking up hard against his belly.