He saw flashes of it in her head, saw how Daegan had held her while she screamed and bit, cursing him in ways that explained some of the strain in the male vampire's face. This time Gideon had compounded it, her anger at the suffering she'd caused him during the marking.

“Yes, I was hard on him.” Anwyn's jaw tightened, her eyes flashing. “Part of it is the gremlins in my brain, but you said it yourself, Gideon. They came here looking for him. You got dragged into this, and here we are, both part of this world neither of us wanted.” Gideon sighed. “It would be really easy to let you believe that, sweetheart, but it's a little more complicated.” He wondered how much she wanted him to talk aloud versus give her thoughts, but if he was having initial difficulties tuning in, perhaps she was as well. “I don't owe him any favors, but I'm going to tell you something, okay? I don't know how much of his world you know about, but my very reliable source tells me that absolutely no one other than the Vampire Council knew who he was or where he could be found. Which means someone sold him out. At the Council level, that's not only serious; it's extremely rare.”

Watching her digest that, Gideon gave her the truth, though he told himself he'd have been happy to have her blame the bastard. “He had every reason to think you'd be safe, Anwyn. He may be many things, but it's pretty clear he'd do anything to protect you. I'm willing to bet if he'dever thought you would be in danger from having him around, you never would have met him. Bust his balls for being an arrogant SOB, but not for caring about you. Even I can't fault him for that.

“As for me, I make my own decisions.” He lifted a shoulder when her expression became reflective.

“No, I didn't want to be second-marked by a vampire.” He couldn't bring himself to call it being a servant, though he knew that was what it was. “But you called it right. I'm on a one-way path to self-destruction, and tickled fucking pink to be going that way. Daegan said I'm only waiting for somebody faster to end it, and maybe he was right.”

Putting her hand on his cheek, she forced his face up to meet her eyes. “I would have been very displeased by that.”

He was conscious of the heat of her palm, the flicker inside her brain that showed him her own awareness of the texture of his skin, how close his lips were to her thumb. As if her small moment of protective possessiveness had kindled another form of marking, of taking possession. Feeling that heat grow between them, he held still, held her gaze.

“When Jacob and I were younger, when our parents were still around, one of their friends killed himself.

When I asked our mother about it, she told me that while she didn't believe that suicides go to Hell, because God was merciful, she thought the reason the Bible and everything else made it such a terrible sin was because God has a plan for us, and if we kill ourselves, we fuck that up. We gotta trust He knows what He's doing.”

“And you believe that?”

“Hell, no.” He gave her a grim smile. “I gave up believing He was even paying attention years ago, but you've reminded me that sometimes there are important reasons we need to go on. Reasons that make life worth living.”

Daring, he leaned forward, put his lips on hers. By the way she stiffened, he thought she might not be used to being kissed without someone asking permission first. Or maybe she was afraid of her own reaction in her current circumstances, but for that reason he did it ohso-lightly, a brush of the top lip, the bottom, a light nip to taste her mouth. The static increased, but then he received a message, loud and clear, her voice that cocktease purr in his mind.

Gideon, stop.

He did, but he stayed where he was, so close their foreheads nearly touched, hair brushing. She put her fingers on his cheek, close to his lips, teasing that corner. All he saw was her blue-green gaze, a sea of emotions upon which his own mind sailed. It was all open to him, the turbulence of fears, hopes and weariness all wound together. Amid that fractious sea, she spoke, her voice resonating in his head as if he were underwater.

“Remember earlier, when we were talking about what belonging to me would mean? Do you understand it?”

He struggled to respond to her through that fracas, but then he saw her recognize his trouble, both from the inside of his mind and from his expression, an odd dual sensation. Her grip tightened, and he saw her do the same thing he was doing, look inward and bear down. Daegan must have given her some beginner's instruction, because slowly she brought a very thin curtain back between their minds. The effort made her hand shake in his, but once it was there, she was able to relax a little. Though he could still hear everything, it was like listening to muted conversations instead of competing with them.

“Better?”

He nodded. “I've seen the relationship between a vampire and a servant, Anwyn. Between two of them who love each other. In the vampire world, you're never supposed to say that, but since the two of them basically told the vampire world to fuck off and made their own rules, I'm going to say it for them.

Watching them, I'm not so sure that kind of ownership, the Dominance and submission, isn't a fluid thing that goes both ways over time.”

“Maybe you're telling yourself that to help you accept it. I don't think you can rely on that one situation to typify ours.”

“Well, that's how I'm doing it. Your real servant will probably do it the right way.” She put a hand on his chest, exerted enough pressure to get him to lean back and away from her. He kept up enough resistance to have her gaze sparking, both the Mistress and vampire recognizing the challenge.

“I want to be cleaned up,” she said. “We'll get into the shower, and you'll wash me, according to my direction.”

No Queen's Chamber. No appointment. She was making it clear she wanted to take the reins, exercise them as a Mistress, and her mind waited, myriad thoughts tumbling, with an undercurrent of sexual intent and emotional need that he couldn't deny.

“My pleasure. Mistress.”

She rose. “I like the water at 102 degrees. There's a thermostat in there. Run the water for me.”

“Is there a vampire health plan for scalded skin? More important, do servants heal from it?” She raised a brow, giving him an imperious look that gave him some perverse pleasure to see, compared to how beaten down she'd looked moments ago. “Daegan told me servants heal from almost everything, as long as the Master or Mistress's blood is available to them.” As she moved forward, he was ready to steady her, but she seemed to be moving far more gracefully now. Check that. She was starting to have that sensual glide that female vampires did so well, a mix between a cheetah's movements and Grace Kelly's. He followed her out of the cell, across the main living quarters and back to the opulent bathroom. Daegan's door was still closed, and he hoped the male was taking some time to rest, then wondered why he cared.

The bathroom had looked much better the first time they were in it. Now it had stacks of dirty towels, discarded basins. But the tub and vanity area were still clear, and she sank down in her chair there, her back to him. She didn't look at the mirror, but he saw the ghostlike image was gone. Now there was no reflection at all.

He began to run the water, but when he looked up, saw her studying him, he felt a tangle of emotions running through her. “I'm sorry I scared you,” he said. “With the seizure and all.” She gave him an incredulous look. “I tried to rip your throat out. I don't think you need to apologize.”

“Maybe. But isn't it a servant's job to make his Mistress feel better?”

“Perhaps.” She cocked her head. Her hair, as in need of a wash as it was, still caught his attention when it shone dark bronze from the vanity lights. “Once I learn how to do this better, Gideon, I'm going to try not to read your mind without your permission. Only do it when we're talking to one another directly, if it's appropriate. I don't want to strip you of your private thoughts. No one deserves that.”

“Until you master that curtain thing, I'll try not to listen in on yours, either,” he offered. “But if you start having fantasies about me, or girl-on-girl action, I can't promise anything. It's biological. Not my fault.” That little quirk again. “I understand it's quite permissible to beat one's servant. I'm having a few fantasies about that.”

“Past attempts to crack my skull have proven it really doesn't do any good.” At her mental cringe, he winced. “I was joking. I didn't mean—”

“I know,” she said quickly. Rising, she folded her arms around herself. Her back straightened as if she were wearing royal purple, instead of a cotton tee. “Is my bath ready?”

Though he was in a unique position to realize how thin her veneer was, there was something about her that made it real, solid. Dignity and class. He'd seen them exercised across the full spectrum of wealth, race and gender barriers when facing fear or death, and knew it had more to do with character than anything else. He bet Lyssa would really like this woman.

In the meantime, the man in him acknowledged both, the fragile woman and the strong Mistress. “Yes.” When he stretched out a hand, she placed hers in it, stepping over the shower wall. She shrugged off the stained garment, handed it to him.

“Throw that away.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, balling it up and doing a basketball toss toward the trash can, scoring a direct hit.

When she turned to give him a narrow glance, he gave her an unrepentant arch of his eyebrow.

“Sit there.” She indicated the commode. “I'm going to wash myself, and you're going to watch. But take off your shirt. I want to enjoy looking at you.”

Okay, she wasreally getting back into the swing of things. She turned on the spray then stepped in, letting it run over her hair. As she sleeked it down on her skull and made it cling to her pale curves, that energy of a second-mark servant made itself known in a very obvious way.

It had been pretty awkward the first time, stripping down with her and Daegan, but she'd been caught up in her emotions then and it had been one of those react-don't-think moments, self-consciousness quickly discarded. This was like a demand issued in her Queen's Chamber. Still, he found himself pulling the T-shirt up and over, and tossing it to the side as well. Trying to be casual about it, even though he felt her eyes coursing up from his abdomen like the trail of her sharp nails.