Sam stared out the window, eyes fixed on Decker's cottage, searching for any sign of Mortimer. If the men were awake, she hadn't yet seen any sign of them, but wasn't surprised. Mortimer was avoiding her, trying to give her the chance to make her decision. He'd said that was what he intended to do when he'd left her last weekend after explaining the downside to what he offered her. Sam understood that he was giving her the space and time to think, and appreciated it, but she missed him.

A little frustrated sigh slipped from her lips, and she paced away from the window, only to whirl back and return to the spot she'd been haunting in the evenings since that night. Alex and Jo had taken to leaving the cottage after dinner, expecting that she and Mortimer would use that time to be together. Sam had allowed them to think that, knowing she needed the time alone to decide her future... and theirs, and Mortimer's too.

Whatever she decided affected everyone she loved, which was what made it such a hard decision to make. Did she grab that brass ring and choose Mortimer... and have to disappear from her sisters' lives in ten years? Or did she choose her sisters and have to give up Mortimer, even the memory of him?

The very thought made her mouth go dry and her muscles clench with anxiety. It was hard to believe that until a week ago he hadn't even been on her radar. In that time he'd somehow made so much of a place in her heart that she now found it hard to continue on without him. Mortimer was always on her mind, her thoughts caught up in everything he'd said and done, her eyes constantly searching out the cottage next door in the hopes of just catching a glimpse of him walking to the SUV as the men left for their nightly hunt for their rogue. Only then would she give up her spot by the sink, and then it was only to pace the floor, her thoughts racing until she finally went to bed, where they continued to race until she heard the SUV return and could sit up to watch Mortimer make the short trek back inside the cottage again. Then Sam would finally drift off to sleep, only to be haunted by him in her dreams.

Despite her late hours, Sam usually woke around eleven. Exhausted and spent, she dragged herself through the day, her thoughts running around inside her mind like a rat trapped in a maze, searching for the right direction to take.

Sam's eyes narrowed on Decker's kitchen door. She'd thought she'd spotted movement beyond the window. For one moment, she allowed her heart to hope that Mortimer might slip over to see her tonight before the men went on the hunt, but then she quashed that hope, knowing it wasn't going to happen. He would leave her to her decision until tomorrow morning as promised. Mortimer had said she had to give him her decision before leaving with her sisters to return to the city.

Sam still hadn't made up her mind. She turned away from the window with exasperation, her gaze sliding desperately around the cottage in search of a distraction. But it was silent and empty. Alex and Jo had gone to the Andersons'. The couple were having their usual Saturday night party, and since it was their last night, her sisters had decided to attend. They'd tried to convince her to go too, but not too hard because they were still under the mistaken belief that she was enjoying her evenings with Mortimer.

If they only knew, Sam thought bitterly, and wished that they did, and that she could explain things to them and-Alex and Jo would have understood, she was sure, and would have kept the secret, and then she wouldn't have had to choose between them or Mortimer, but he'd said that wasn't allowed. The more who knew the secret, the more risk there was of the knowledge getting out and his people being hunted down and slaughtered out of fear.

Sighing, Sam forced herself to calm down and think things through logically. There were a lot of pluses to choosing Mortimer. She would remain young, never get sick, etc. Of course the whole blood thing was a bit of an issue. She found the idea rather gross, but could get past that if she just thought of it as medicine like cod liver oil or something. Mortimer had said they didn't taste it when they "bit the bag" anyway. Mind you, she wasn't pleased with the idea of being stuck with her scrawny body for centuries, and suspected breast implants wouldn't be a possibility, but...

Sam made a cluck of disgust. None of that was important to her. She'd never dreamed of living forever, or feared losing her youth, and thinking about it was just a way to avoid the real issues. The true issue was the people involved. People she loved. Did she choose him and lose her sisters, as well as her career, one she'd worked long and hard for? Or did she choose her sisters, keep her career, and lose Mortimer? It was an impossible choice. She and her sisters only had one another. They weren't close with their one remaining aunt and uncle, but spent all their special occasions alone. Christmas, birthdays, Thanksgiving, and Easter all were spent with the three of them together. And they called one another all the time, and...

How could Sam remove herself from that equation and leave the two alone to fend for themselves? On the other hand, how could she give up Mortimer? She might not suffer so much, she reminded herself. He'd explained that they would erase her memories so at least she wouldn't remember what she was missing. But he would... And he'd explained that life mates were rare and special and sometimes once-in-a-lifetime occurrences, although he did know of a few who had been fortunate enough to find another after losing their first. She was the first Mortimer had encountered in eight hundred years. If she chose her sisters, while she might not recall what she had given up, he would, and it might be centuries before he found another to take her place, if ever. Sam loved Mortimer too much to do that to him. And despite the fact that she might not remember it, she didn't want to do that to herself either. He might be her only chance at love too. The idea of giving him up was unbearable, but so was the idea of having to leave her sisters.

She ran her hands into her hair and tugged viciously at the strands, frustration roiling through her. Sam didn't know what to do. She simply couldn't decide. She didn't want to leave any of them. The whole matter was making her hate the idea of not aging. If she just didn't stay young, but continued to age, she could have Mortimer and stay with her sisters too.

Sam paused abruptly as that thought claimed her. Mortimer had said she had to decide if she wished to be his life mate, and then whether she wished to be turned and become one of them. That meant she didn't have to turn to be with him, Sam realized, and if she didn't, she wouldn't have to abandon her sisters.

Not turning brought its own issues, of course. She would age while Mortimer wouldn't and so on, but at least she wouldn't have to leave her sisters after ten years. She could stay and see Alex and Jo settled and maybe allow him to turn her later or something.

Of course, Mortimer would have to bow out of their lives in ten years. Or maybe twenty, she thought. If they dyed his sideburns gray, and dressed him a little frumpy, they might be able to squeeze another ten years in before he had to stop seeing them. Maybe more; after all, there were breakthroughs every day in cosmetic advances. They might manage twenty-five or even thirty years before he had to stop seeing her sisters. But Sam could still see them if she did age, and could make up excuses for why Mortimer couldn't, or even claim to divorce him or something. She knew she'd eventually have to give them up, but hoped it would be easier if they were better settled with families of their own.

It was a risk, though, and Sam knew it. There was the chance she could have a heart attack or stroke, or be in an accident, but really even as an immortal there was the possibility of being in a car accident and getting decapitated, or trapped in the vehicle and burning alive. Life was full of risks.

She released a long, slow breath of relief at having come to a decision she could live with, and then frowned as the next issue then cropped up in her mind. That was that, while she knew she loved him, Mortimer-unfortunately-hadn't used the word love himself. Instead he'd said he liked her with the "ever-after kind of like."

What the heck was that, exactly? she wondered unhappily. And why hadn't he used the word love? Sam was a lawyer, and to her the fact that he hadn't said I love you was probably because he didn't. She feared he was merely settling for her because he couldn't read her mind or control her and those were considered signs of a life mate to his kind. Mortimer seemed to think that was the same thing as love, but Sam wasn't sure. She didn't want to be his I'll-settle-for-her girl. On the other hand, if there was a possibility that he did love her, or might even come to love her, she didn't want to give him up and have her mind wiped.

She paused by the window as the sound of an engine drew her gaze to the lake, and a boat cruised into view. It rode by, turning inland just as it passed their dock, and that's when she realized it was Grant returning home from an outing. Sam's eyes immediately shifted to the table and the pie waiting beside the check for his work.

The pie was the third one Alex had made this week. Unfortunately, their neighbor never seemed to be home to accept delivery, and rather than risk giving him a pie that had gone bad, Alex had made another on Tuesday and then another that morning. Of course, she, Jo, and Alex had been forced to eat the other pies rather than see them go to waste. It appeared that they wouldn't have to eat this one though. Alex had asked Sam to keep an eye out and deliver it should Grant make an appearance, and there he was.

She might as well do it now and get that chore out of her hair, Sam thought. The short walk and fresh air might help clear her thoughts.

Nodding, she picked up the pie and then headed out the door.

There was no path from their property to Grant's. His house was on something of a raised cliff. It was only about three and a half feet high, but it was lined with boulders and waist-high weeds. She had to walk up to the lane and along the gravel road to get to his driveway. Sam had to pay attention and go slow as she walked the rutted driveway to keep from stumbling or twisting an ankle, so it took a few moments for her to reach the little house on the small cliff.

Her gaze slid over the building as she moved to the small front deck. Grant was a year-round resident, and the house showed that, with a Ski-Doo parked next to a Sea-Doo under the wide awning beside the garage.

Sam turned her attention to the dock then, noting that the boat was tied up, and the dock empty. Her gaze then slid to the door of the house to see it was open. Sam walked up the steps to the yawning entrance and peered inside.

"Grant?" she called, and thought she heard him answer from somewhere inside. At least she heard him say something, and stepped cautiously over the threshold. Pausing in the unlit and shadowed kitchen inside the door, she called uncertainly, "Grant? Alex sent me with a pie and your check."

A loud crash sounded, followed by a curse, and Sam glanced toward an open door and then moved quickly to it and found herself at the top of a set of stairs leading down. Worried that the man had hurt himself, she hurried down and toward the only open door with a light on inside.

"Grant? Did you hurt yourself?" Sam asked, rushing to the door, and then froze at the entrance, her eyes widening at the sight before her. Grant stood in front of an open refrigerator, a cooler lying on its side at his feet. It had obviously fallen and crashed open, but its contents were what had brought her to an abrupt halt. Half a dozen blood bags had spilled out, at least one of them breaking in the fall. Blood was gushing from the punctured bag and running in rivulets across the white tiles.

"Oh," she breathed, her eyes lifting to Grant's stunned face as he glanced over to see her standing there. For a moment, both of them seemed frozen, and she stared at the man, noting the fact that he looked about twenty-five to thirty, was in peak condition, and there was a silver glint to his blue eyes that reminded her of Mortimer. If that and the blood hadn't convinced her he was an immortal, the fangs sliding out of his mouth made it obvious. Both her neighbors were immortals, it seemed... and unless there were scads of them running around up here, Grant was probably the rogue, she realized with horror.

Dropping the pie, Sam whirled and ran for the stairs, her heart sinking as a scuffling behind her warned that he was giving chase. Immortals were stronger and could run faster than mortals, she recalled Mortimer telling her, and knew she didn't have a chance.

"-love you."

Mortimer turned from pacing the floor in the rec room to glance at Bricker as the younger immortal stared at him impatiently. "What did you say?"

"I knew you weren't listening to me," Bricker said with exasperation.

Mortimer grimaced, acknowledging that he hadn't. He'd been distracted and lost in his own thoughts and worries since his talk with Sam. It had been the hardest thing in the world for him to stay away from her, but he knew he had to. She needed time to think without his distracting her. He was asking her to give up a lot. She was close to her sisters and had worked hard for her career.

"I said, when you talked to Sam the other night, did you say 'I love you,'" he repeated the words that had drawn Mortimer's attention back to him in the first place. "You do love her, right?"

Mortimer stared at him. Yes. He loved her. Dear God, why else would he be such a wreck? He'd been less than useless the last several nights while they were out hunting, mostly just a body following the other two without a single useful suggestion to make to find their rogue. While the other two had been planning and suggesting ways to lay a trap, Mortimer had sat wishing he'd stayed to somehow convince Sam to be his life mate. And berating himself for not simply taking her to bed and not letting her out until she agreed to be with him. She was his, dammit! There was no question of whether she should be his life mate. She simply was.

"You didn't tell her you love her," Bricker said, sounding disappointed as he made it obvious he'd read his mind. Shaking his head he said, "Girls like to hear that stuff, Mortimer."

"I told her I had the ever-after kind of like for her," Mortimer defended himself, but knew that just wasn't the same thing. He probably should have told her he loved her.

"Oh man." Bricker heaved out a sigh of mingled disgust and resignation. "This life mate business must really mess with your head. You used to be the smarter one."

Mortimer frowned. "I'm not smarter."

"Not anymore," Bricker agreed dryly. "Go back and tell the woman you love her. It's the least you can do if you hope she'll choose you over family."

Mortimer hesitated one moment, but then nodded and headed for the stairs. He'd go there right now, tell her he loved her, and then show her he loved her too. He'd worship every inch of her body until she couldn't bear the idea of never experiencing such pleasure again. He'd-

"I'll keep the girls busy if they return before you're done so you can do the job properly," Bricker offered, revealing once again that he was eavesdropping in his head. This time Mortimer didn't berate him; he'd appreciate his keeping Jo and Alex away, he decided as he stepped off the top step into the kitchen.

"No problem," Bricker assured him as if he'd spoken the thoughts aloud. He then slammed one hand onto his shoulder, opened the door to the deck with the other, and propelled him firmly through it. "Go get her, tiger."

Nodding, Mortimer strode out and crossed to the stairs at a quick clip. He continued that quick clip as he crossed the yard and traveled the trail through the trees, but his steps slowed as he crossed their yard and he contemplated how he should do this.

Did he just stride in like a conquering hero, sweep her into his arms, make mad passionate love to her, and then confess his love and beg her to be his life mate? Or did he make the confession of love first and then sweep her into his arms and make mad passionate love to her followed by groveling and pleas that she be his life mate? Should he plead at all? Maybe demanding or simply asking would be better.

Also, should he take her where she stood, or carry her off to the bedroom where he could take her in relative comfort? Both options had their good points. Comfort was definitely nice, but there was something to be said for the added excitement of a passion that wouldn't be denied and sex in strange places. Perhaps he should-

"Stop bloody thinking and get in there."

Mortimer whirled around to scowl as he saw that Bricker stood not three feet behind him. "What are you doing?"

"I knew you'd overthink it so I thought I'd follow to give you a push if you started to lag," he said dryly.

"I don't need-" Mortimer began, and then his eyes widened as he saw Decker approaching a few feet behind Bricker.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I was just coming to suggest that Bricker and I head out to look around for the rogue while you do this." When the younger man nodded agreement, Decker glanced back to Mortimer and added, "If you can't persuade Sam to be your life mate, just ring my cell and we'll head back so I can... do what needs doing." He shrugged. "There's no sense dragging it out until tomorrow morning."

"Nothing like burying me before I'm dead," Mortimer muttered.

"Don't listen to him," Bricker said quickly, grabbing his shoulders and turning him toward the steps to Sam's cottage. "You will convince her. It's meant to be."

"Is it?" Mortimer asked unhappily.

"Yes, it is," Bricker assured, propelling him up the stairs. "Just-"

His words died and both men froze as a scream sounded from next door.

"That sounded like Sam," Mortimer said anxiously, shoving his way past Bricker and lunging back down the steps. He was around the cottage in a heartbeat and leaping up the boulders that separated the two properties, aware that Bricker and Pimms were on his heels.

"What would she be doing over here?" Bricker asked as they hurried across the empty yard.

Mortimer didn't answer. He was too worried about Sam to take the time to sort it out. With her balance as iffy as it was, she could have fallen and broken something, and he was desperately hoping it wasn't her beautiful neck. If she died before he could turn her, he'd kill her, Mortimer thought illogically.

"If she's seriously injured you'd have an excuse to turn her without her permission," Bricker pointed out as Mortimer led the way to the house.

The idea was tempting, but he'd rather Sam chose him herself, not be forced into it by circumstances. Besides, she might resent being turned while injured and unconscious-even if it was to save her life-and never consent to be his life mate.

The door to the house was wide open. Mortimer led the way inside, his feet turning immediately toward a set of stairs as his ears caught the murmur of voices drifting up. The fact that those voices sounded completely calm now did not ease his anxiety, and he scrambled down the steps so fast he nearly flew. Mortimer then charged for the open door of a lit room and came to a screeching halt as he saw Sam kneeling in a pool of blood, helping to gather several unscathed bags of blood as she listened to the dark-haired man kneeling beside her.

Bricker and Pimms hadn't expected him to halt so abruptly and immediately careened into his back, nearly sending the three of them toppling to the floor.

Their less than graceful entrance hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Mortimer." Sam peered up at him with surprise, and then smiled uncertainly. "I think I may have solved your rogue case for you."

Relief coursed through him as he realized she was uninjured after all. His gaze slid from her to the stranger, who was indeed an immortal, he saw, and then he moved to Sam's side, caught her by the arm, and drew her to her feet and protectively to his side.

Sighing, the dark-haired immortal got to his feet and then held out one hand. "Grant Galloway," he introduced himself. "And I am not a rogue."

Mortimer tucked Sam safely behind him before turning to scowl at the man accusingly. "You are if you're the one who's been biting the mortals around here."

"As it happens I have, but as I was explaining to your life mate here, I only do it in cases of an emergency."

"How did you know I was his life mate?" Sam asked, scooting in front of Mortimer before he could stop her. "You were reading my mind, weren't you?"

"Yes. I apologize, Sam, but you sort of freaked out when you saw the blood and I had to take control of you to calm you down. I inadvertently read your thoughts," the man explained, craning his neck to keep eye contact with her as Mortimer shifted her behind him again. When he could no longer see her, he then turned his attention to Mortimer.

"I only bite mortals when the power goes out and my blood supply is tainted. And I stop the moment a fresh supply arrives," Grant said stiffly, kneeling once again to finish collecting the undamaged bags and put them in the refrigerator.

"There have been too many people spotted with bite marks for it only to have been in an emergency," Mortimer said with disbelief.

Grant shrugged as he put the last bag in the refrigerator and closed the door. "The power goes out a lot up here. It really isn't very reliable. It seems that every time there's a slight wind, or a heavy snow, some tree somewhere takes down a line and disrupts the power."

A moment of silence passed as Mortimer, Decker, and Bricker exchanged glances, and then Decker asked, "Why don't you have a generator? If you had a generator, it wouldn't be an issue."

"I can't afford a generator," Grant said dryly, and then scowled as he added, "Not all of us were fortunate enough to have ancestors clever enough to gain and maintain wealth over the centuries. Some of us are just regular folk."

The words made Sam snicker, and Mortimer noted the glare Grant turned on her as she peered around his arm. He scowled at him in response and stepped sideways to block her from view, but she simply rushed around his other side and in front of him so that she could say apologetically, "I'm sorry, Grant, but there's just nothing regular about any of you. You're vampires, for God's sake."

"We prefer the term immortals," Grant said, sounding somewhat mollified by her explanation.

"So you claim that you've only ever bitten mortals when the power went down and your blood was tainted?" Mortimer asked, forcing them back to the point. He also threw his arm around Sam's shoulders and dragged her to his side, thinking that if the damned woman wouldn't stay where he put her, he'd have to anchor her there to keep her safe.

"I'm not claiming it, it's true. Read my mind if you don't believe me," Grant added, and then stood patiently, waiting.

Mortimer reached out with his thoughts, finding the man's mind open. What he read there told him that it was indeed true. Grant Galloway only resorted to biting mortals when his blood was tainted and he was waiting for a delivery of fresh supplies.

"We got our emergency delivery of fresh blood the day after the power problem. Why did it take so long for you to receive your new supplies?" Mortimer asked, remaining in the man's head to read the answer as it popped to the forefront of his thoughts. He frowned as he read that answer. Grant Galloway had insulted the head of the order-taking department at the Argeneau Blood Bank some time ago and suspected she now watched for his orders to pass her desk and then temporarily lost them to make him wait for his deliveries. He suspected she was trying to make trouble for him, and-he thought-had succeeded in her efforts, or else he wouldn't have enforcers in his home gunning for his hide.

"Jesus," Decker muttered beside him, obviously reading the thoughts too. "Why the hell didn't you report her to someone higher up?"

"I wouldn't give her the satisfaction," Grant said stiffly. "I can make do on my own."

"Report who?" Sam asked with confusion, reminding them that she couldn't read Grant's thoughts.

Yet, Mortimer thought hopefully, and quickly explained the situation.

"Well, that just sounds petty," she said with disgust. "I would have thought your people were above that."

"We're immortal, but we're still human," he said quietly.

Her eyes widened slightly as he said this, as if she hadn't been thinking of them as human after learning about their somewhat unique status. It seemed obvious he had more explaining to do, and the sooner the better.

"Go on," Decker said suddenly. "We'll deal with the matter here."

Nodding, Mortimer turned Sam toward the door.

"What will they do with Grant?" she asked anxiously as he ushered her upstairs.

Mortimer waited until they'd left the cottage and were crossing the yard before answering, "They'll call our boss, Lucian, and tell him what's going on here."

"And what will this Lucian do?" Sam asked worriedly. Apparently she liked the guy enough to be concerned for him, but then he had been her neighbor for several years.

Mortimer paused and turned to scoop her up in his arms. He'd led her to the small cliff rather than walk all the way around, but wasn't risking her trying to climb down, losing her balance, and falling. Cradling her close, he leaped off the cliff, landing on her property with a grunt. Mortimer didn't set her down then, but continued to carry her as he crossed to the deck of her family cottage.

"Mortimer?" she asked as he mounted the steps to the deck. "What will he do?"

Mortimer blew out a small breath, but answered, "I'm not sure, but I suspect Lucian will let him off the hook this time. If so, he'll probably arrange for a generator to save further problems."

"He'd do that?" Sam asked with surprise.

"He might," Mortimer said with a shrug, unable to say one way or the other. Lucian could be a hard-ass, but he looked after their people the best he could.

"What about the woman who's holding up Grant's orders?" she asked with a small frown.

"Bastien will deal with her," he said. Catching the confusion on her face, he explained, "Bastien Argeneau. He's Lucian's nephew. He heads up Argeneau Enterprises, which runs our blood banks and various other things. Lucian will tell Bastien what she's been doing and he'll deal with her."

"Deal with her?" Sam echoed, eyes narrowing, and Mortimer paused in front of the door to the cottage to frown at her expression.

"He isn't going to stake her through the heart and set her on fire," he said dryly. "This isn't the Middle Ages and we aren't monsters. She'll probably get a strong warning and dressing-down along with the threat of losing her job if he hears of her doing any such thing again."

When she relaxed in his arms, he shook his head and then said, "Get the door, please, love."

Sam's eyes widened at the endearment, but she reached to open the door so that he could hook his foot around it, draw it all the way open, and carry her inside.

Mortimer considered setting her down in the living room and talking to her, but his original plan had been to make love to her until she agreed to be his life mate, and it still seemed like a good plan to him. Unfortunately, he was very aware that her sisters could come home at any time, so he carried her to the short hall leading to the bedrooms.

"What are we doing?" Sam asked with surprise. They'd reached her door by then, and she promptly followed the first question with, "And how did you know this was my room?"

"I guessed," he muttered.

"You didn't answer my first question," she pointed out.

Mortimer paused beside the small double bed and kissed her before saying, "I love you, and I'm going to make love to you until you agree to be my life mate."

"I'll be your life mate," she said promptly as he lowered his head, intending to kiss her again.

Mortimer paused abruptly, unsure he'd heard her correctly. "You will?"

Sam nodded solemnly, but when he grinned and bent again to try to kiss her, she turned her head away and added, "But I don't want you turn me."

Mortimer stiffened at once, a lot of the joy that had just leaped in his chest dying at once. "What? Why not?"

Sam turned her head back and eyed him solemnly. "I can't abandon my sisters, Mortimer. I love you, but I also love them. We only have each other and I can't-"

"You have me now too," he interrupted.

"Yes." She smiled and placed her hand on his cheek. "Thank you for telling me you love me. It means a lot, and I do love you too. But Alex and Jo would be alone if I left them."

"They'll marry and have families of their own," he argued.

"And when they do I'll reconsider," she answered quietly.

Mortimer frowned, not satisfied with that. "But what if you have an accident or something, or-"

"You could turn me today and I could be in a car accident tomorrow, get trapped in the car and burn to death," she pointed out solemnly. "Isn't that true?"

Mortimer nodded reluctantly. Fire was one of the few ways one of their kind could die.

"Life is full of risks," she said softly. "I can only deal with what I know, and I know I don't want to lose you, but I don't want to lose Alex and Jo either. Besides," she added brightly. "I was thinking that Bricker and Jo really hit it off and if he were to turn her-"

"He can read her," Mortimer interrupted gently. "They aren't life mates."

"Oh." She frowned at this news, but then bounced back with "Well, you must know loads of immortals. We'll just have lots of dinner parties and introduce my sisters to your friends until-"

"Sam," he interrupted gently, "sweetheart, the chances of their also turning out to be life mates to an immortal are..." Mortimer paused as he saw the tears gathering in her eyes. Feeling his heart squeeze with pain for her, he said sadly, "I just don't want you to get your hopes up, honey."

"Hope is all I have," Sam said solemnly. "Let me hold on to it as long as I can. Please?"

Mortimer closed his eyes briefly, his mind whirling. She had chosen him, but couldn't yet let go of her family. With time he hoped that would change, but until then it meant a lot of worry and agony for them both. She would wear herself out trying to find life mates for her sisters, and when that failed, constantly fret about the day when she would have to make the final decision to give them up and allow herself to be turned. As for him, he would constantly fret about her health and well-being and not getting herself killed before he could turn her.

It seemed obvious that a lot of anxiety and heartache lay ahead for both of them, and for one brief moment Mortimer considered choosing the kinder path and having Decker wipe her mind to save her from it, but he couldn't. He was too selfish. Mortimer wanted her in his life any way he could get her. As his life mate, she could remain with him even if she wasn't turned, if-

"We'll have to go before the Council," he told her quietly.

"The Council?" Sam echoed, and he wasn't surprised by the worry on her face. "Why?"

"Because if you aren't turned, you have to be-" Mortimer hesitated and then admitted, "I'm not sure what they do. It might be a three-on-one or something, but they'll do something."

"A three-on-one?" she asked warily, and his mouth tipped at the suspicion in her eyes.

"It isn't a sexual thing," Mortimer said with a laugh, but the laugh died as he admitted, "Three Council members will slip into your mind at the same time and do stuff to ensure that you never accidentally tell anyone about us."

"They'll do stuff? What kind of stuff?" Sam asked dubiously.

"I don't know what it is exactly they do," Mortimer admitted wearily, suddenly sure she would balk at the procedure. "But they have a way of locking the knowledge away somewhere so that you know, but can't ever speak about it. It's the only way they'd allow us to be life mates without your turning."

"You mean like a hypnotic suggestion?" she asked slowly.

"I don't know," he admitted, unwilling to lie.

Sam worried her lip briefly, but then sighed and raised her eyes to his. "If that's what it takes, then I guess I'll have to let them do it. I don't want to lose you."

Mortimer let his breath out on a whoosh and hugged her close. "Thank God," he whispered into her hair.

"I do love you, Mortimer," Sam whispered into his chest. "I hope my not being willing to turn right away doesn't make you think I don't. I just-"

"I know." He let her feet slip to the floor. Once she was standing before him, he clasped her face in his hands and smiled down at her. "You love your sisters too. I noticed the closeness the three of you shared right away. I understand."

Sam smiled with relief, and then cleared her throat, and-eyes fixed on the front of his T-shirt-whispered, "Didn't you say something about making love to me earlier?" Raising her eyes to his, she added shyly, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," he admitted, brushing one thumb lightly across the corner of her mouth. "And I never want to be without you again."

"You won't," she promised on a whisper. "You have me now. Everything will work out in the end."

Mortimer smiled and bent to cover her mouth with his. He told himself that she was right. They'd found their rogue, and he had won his life mate. Perhaps the worries now floating through his thoughts were for naught. After all, it had turned out their rogue wasn't really a rogue at all. Maybe his worries weren't really worries. Perhaps everything would work out, he told himself, but a part of his mind stood firm and unconvinced. It saw trials ahead to overcome, and dangers that threatened Sam's life and his happiness. And it saw terrible heartache if he lost her to one of those threats.

His distraction was apparently noticeable in his kisses. Sam suddenly broke their kiss to whisper, "You're worrying. Let it go and come back to me."

Mortimer wished it were only that easy, and then Sam apparently decided to show him that it was. She kissed him, this time taking charge of the caress, her own tongue slipping out to urge his lips apart. He was so startled by the aggressive action that he didn't notice that her fingers were busily working on removing his shirt until the buttons were undone and she was pushing the material apart to run her fingers lightly over his bare chest. But in the next moment her attention shifted to his pants, and Mortimer found himself sucking in his breath on a surprised gasp as she merely unsnapped the button and then slid her hand inside to find him.

He almost bit down on her tongue in surprise when her fingers found and closed over him, then he groaned and quickly began undressing her. Mortimer managed to get her T-shirt off and unsnap her bra, but had to give up kissing her to manage it. The moment the bra hit the floor, though, he slid a hand into her hair and dragged her back to kiss again as his other hand moved down to begin tugging at her jogging shorts.

Sam hadn't been still while he worked. She'd left off caressing him to concentrate on finishing undoing his jeans and was pushing them down off his hips even as he tugged her shorts off her own. The moment their shorts dropped to tangle around their ankles, Mortimer tumbled Sam to the bed, but the shorts put him off balance and they landed on their sides, still kissing.

She laughed against his mouth as he rolled so that she was beneath him on the bed, and then groaned when he found and began to knead one breast even as he ground his hips forward so that his erection pressed eagerly against her. His own groan followed as her pleasure struck him, and-despite the fact that he'd experienced this with her the first time they'd made love-he marveled at it anew.

This shared pleasure was something Mortimer had heard about for centuries. Young immortals whispered about such things while growing up, wondering what it would be like, and just how good it might be. Neither he nor his young friends had had a clue, he thought now. There was simply no way to imagine the all-encompassing, overwhelming intensity of the experience. Between that and the safety one experienced being able to just be with someone without having to constantly guard one's thoughts, Mortimer thought he understood why immortals had killed for life mates, and even been known to destroy themselves at their loss. He already couldn't imagine a life without Sam in it.

"Oh God, Sweet Cheeks, please," Sam moaned by his ear, her nails digging into his behind and urging him closer still.

Mortimer stiffened slightly, and broke the kiss to rise up and peer at her blankly. "Sweet Cheeks?"

Sam blushed, but then gave a breathless laugh and admitted, "You suggested a pet name and I've been working on it. I don't know about your toes, but you have the nicest behind I've ever seen on a man, so..." When Mortimer just stared at her, she added seriously, "You have a very nice penis too, and it gives me a great deal of pleasure, but I somehow didn't think Sweet Penis would go over well in public. Although I guess I could shorten it to Sweet P."

Mortimer closed his eyes at the very suggestion. He could just imagine the men's reaction if she ever called him Sweet P in front of them. Hell, Sweet Cheeks wasn't much better. In reality, Sweet Penis would probably give him the most status with the guys. But he knew there was no way she would use it in public.

Seeming to sense his distress, she promised, "I'll keep working on it."

A soft chuckle slipped from his lips, and Mortimer opened his eyes and peered solemnly down at her. "I love you, Sam."

"I love you too, Garrett Gordon Mortimer," she said, sounding surprised at the solemn tone to his voice.

He nodded, and then said, "We can do this. I'm going to keep you safe and well until you're ready to turn. And I'm going to help you see your sisters settled and do whatever it takes for you to be willing to take that step."

Sam nodded solemnly and then said, "And I'll do whatever I have to to keep you safe and well too."

Mortimer blinked at the promise and then asked with amusement, "What makes you think I need keeping safe?"

"You're a cop, Mortimer," she pointed out quietly.

"I deal with police officers all the time. I have friends who are cops. I know what I'm getting into here. The constant worry that you won't come home, the-"

"No, no, no," Mortimer interrupted, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "No, Sam, sweetheart. You don't have to worry about that. I'm an immortal."

"You may be an immortal, but from what I understand that doesn't mean you are immortal," she pointed out. "And the rogues you hunt are also immortals, and they know how to kill you if they aren't wanting to be caught, don't they?"

His eyebrows rose at her words. He'd never thought about it like that.

"So," she said, raising her hands to frame his face now. "We'll keep each other safe and happy. We can do it, Mortimer... together."

"Together," he agreed, and felt his hope reawakening inside him.

As he bent to kiss her, Mortimer began to think that perhaps they could do it. Together. As long as they had each other, anything was possible.

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