However, that in itself wasn't enough to alarm Jesse. What stirred his fear and caused him to tug at his bonds, however vainly, was the fact that St. Cyr held Jesse's slaying knife, the shiny blade pointed directly at Jesse's heart.

Chapter Five.

Jesse remained silent, his weakened body unable to tug free of the bonds. He glanced up at the shackles, not needing to guess at their substance. Lead, of course. He sneered inwardly at himself, at how truly half-a.s.sed his plan had been, not to test himself first and make certain he could withstand lead. He'd seen other immortals develop weaknesses to certain metals, but having lived a basically peaceful existence since giving up slaying, he'd not bothered to keep himself up to date on his own weaknesses.

St. Cyr must have figured things out while Jesse slept and had chosen the shackles with that in mind.

Now Jesse was f.u.c.ked. Without a kiss.

St. Cyr cleared his throat. "I suppose it would be useless to ask who sent you here to kill me." His voice floated softly in the air, surprisingly free of menace. "Seeing as I already know."

Jesse didn't respond. Having his own knife pointed a few inches from his chest made him a bit extra cautious.

The vampire sighed. He turned the blade over as if fascinated by it. "Beautiful craftsmanship," he murmured. "The immortal craftsmen are the last true artisans left in the world, I'm afraid."

Jesse watched him, every nerve in his weak body tensed, trembling. Was St. Cyr toying with him? Tormenting him in his last moments? Vampires often did like to bat their prey around psychologically before moving in for the kill. And yet, with his empathic abilities still intact, Jesse didn't get the sense that St. Cyr was playing a game. The sound in his voice was too ... hurt.

Well, seeing as Jesse had come to kill him, such a response was understandable. But, then again, wouldn't St. Cyr be more angry? Ready to kill Jesse to protect himself? What was the vampire waiting for if he wasn't tormenting Jesse before killing him?

A moment more pa.s.sed and Jesse understood. His empathic understanding flooded in unimpeded. St. Cyr's tone conveyed more than hurt. The vampire felt betrayed. Let down. When Jesse had revived, the vampire had hoped for a mate, only to learn that his potential mate was really there to kill him. In spite of the situation, Jesse sympathized with St. Cyr. He, himself, knewonly too well the feeling of betrayal, having lived through it so many times himself over the centuries. He experienced another flash of sympathy, an emotion that could have been stronger in him if Hannah's life weren't hanging on St. Cyr's head.

St. Cyr examined the knife a moment longer and leaned over, setting the weapon gently down on the bedside table.

Jesse heaved a deep sigh, the relief flowing in such a rush through him that he couldn't suppress the sound he made.

The vampire looked down at him, his blue eyes smoldering in the strangest way. "I knowwhy Noiret sent you," he said, his tone still free of anger. He folded his arms across that broad chest. "

The only thing I haven't figured out is why he sentyou . I know there's a reason. Noiret has a perverse taste for drama and torment. He must have something you want. Something important."

St. Cyr tilted his blond head, the movement causing the firelight to glint off the thick golden tresses. "Or maybe ... someone."

Jesse continued to watch him, the sound of his own heartbeat crashing in his ears. The knowledge that he was completely at St. Cyr's mercy gripped him with the same agony as if he'd been forced to drink lead. Whatever the vampire wished to do to him, he could. As long as Jesse'

s strength was at all hindered, he didn't have a chance. As strong as immortals were, vampires were stronger.

Unless ... well, St. Cyr was a Coeur Eternel. That possibility existed. From his experience of CE's Jesse knew that compa.s.sion was a force within them they couldn't control, as strong in their very makeup as the hunger to feed.

Of course. He'd forgotten completely about that. The scar in St. Cyr's cheek wouldn't be there unless he was a CE. Perhaps if he'd simply insinuated himself with St. Cyr to begin with, he could have explained his plight to him and gained him as an ally. Then, the two of them could have joined together and freed Hannah.

Of course, there was no guarantee of any of that. Evenif such a plan had worked with St. Cyr, there was no guessing Noiret's reaction when Jesse showed up again without St. Cyr's head on a platter. Jesse knew one thing for certain was: you didn't f.u.c.k around with a really old vampire. At least not if you expected to live.

All considerations and could-have-beens aside, he was in a no-win situation, no matter what. In all reality, the truth was the only hope he had. "Noiret has my sister," he murmured. His throat was horribly dry and scratchy and the sound came out as more of a croak.

St. Cyr leaned over, poured a gla.s.s of water and held it to Jesse's lips. Gently, he tilted the cup, his other large hand cradling the back of Jesse's head, letting just enough water slide into Jesse's mouth without choking him before pulling back.

Jesse swallowed, panting as the cool wetness coated his parched throat. In spite of his own condition, Jesse felt how gently the vampire was handling him and his suspicion that St. Cyr was a Coeur Eternel grew.

The flame of hope intensified. If he could feel St. Cyr's chest, feel the thump of a heartbeat under his hand, he'd know. A CE would help him, would not be able to deny him aid once he knew.

However, there was one problem -- Jesse's hands were bound and he could not simply come out and ask St. Cyr what manner of vampire he was. If he wasn't one of the compa.s.sionate ones, there was a frightening chance he'd take horrible advantage of Jesse's vulnerability.

St. Cyr fed him sips of water until he nodded. The vampire set the gla.s.s down, lowered Jesse's head to the pillow and continued to gaze at him. "What's your sister's name?" Jesse ran his tongue across his lips, catching excess droplets of water before he spoke. "

Hannah," he answered softly.

Chris suppressed the shiver of desire that rippled through his body at the small movement of the immortal's tongue. This was no time for l.u.s.t. He had a larger problem at hand.

A wave of potent, searing emotion for the immortal was cresting inside him, preparing to break and flood him. From the way the immortal had answered the question, the love between him and his sister was unmistakable. Just as doubtless was the danger his sister actually was in as Noiret 's prisoner. No doubt, now that the immortal's plan to kill him for Noiret had backfired, he was using sympathy as a ploy. Noiret certainly had informed this man that Chris was at least part CE, and even if he hadn't, the scar was a clue, providing that the man lying naked before him knew enough about vampires to make the distinction. That would be all the knowledge he'd need to use Chris's compa.s.sion for his own ends.

It didn't even matter whether or not the immortal was using him, subtly seducing him for his own desperate purposes. Chris could do nothing to stop the wave of love cresting inside him. From the moment he'd turned on the sidewalk and seen the fallen man, his body shot full of bullets, Chris had felt for him. Then, after having fed on him, bonding the man to him intimately, the compa.s.sion had only grown. Not even finding the knife and figuring out the immortal's true purpose had stopped the burgeoning emotion. Mix that sympathy with Chris's potent loneliness, his desire for the beautiful Roman immortal, and his deep-seated hunger for a mate, and the combination was lethal. Intoxicating.

In other words, Chris was a goner. His for the taking. The only thing Chris needed to do was ensure that the immortal didn't kill him before he understood this.

Chris fought back the urge to reach out and touch the immortal's face. "And what is your name?"

he asked softly.

The immortal swallowed hard, his Adam's apple sliding in his throat, touching off Christian's desire to lean down and put his lips to the supple skin just under the man's unshaven jaw. The man's scent, distinguishable to Christian through the dried blood still covering the man's magnificent torso, rose to his nostrils, a heady musk that made Chris feel almost drunk.

"Jesse."

No surprise there that the man would be named for the father of King David. "Jesse," he repeated, hearing a dreamy quality in his own voice. "You already know mine, I presume."

Jesse nodded. "St. Cyr."

"I 'd prefer if you called me Christian, or Chris, strange as it may seem, considering I have you bound."

Jesse didn't answer. He just continued to stare up at him, obviously afraid the vampire would kill him at any moment.

Chris sighed. "I think the best thing to do right now is for you to have a shower and something to eat. We can deal with our situation after that. Is that agreeable to you?"

Jesse nodded. The thought of hot water and food called to his stricken senses. He realized thatSt. Cyr ... Christian ... didn't understand what had happened to his physical strength and believed Jesse still capable of killing him. Best if he believed that. G.o.d only knew how the vampire would use such knowledge if he turned out to be a Sans Ame. All Jesse could do now was try to get St.

Cyr as an ally. And the best way to do that, he realized, was to give him what St. Cyr seemed to desire in the first place.

The thought sent a thrill of heat straight into Jesse's groin. Truth was, he could stand some of that for himself. It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone and he, too, had often known the gnawing desire for a real mate, someone you knew would be there, a steady burning flame in the constant shifting of time.

St. Cyr rose from the bed and began undoing the bonds around Jesse's ankles. The vampire's fingertips dappled lightly against Jesse's skin, warming him as he unwound the heavy ropes that held the lead shackles. He then produced a key from his pocket and undid the manacles. The lack of metal against Jesse's skin was glorious and he moved his feet around, relishing the freedom.

He realized soon, however, when St. Cyr re-pocketed the key and undid the bonds chaining Jesse 's arms that he wasn't going to remove the lead around his wrists.

Instead, St. Cyr gently lowered Jesse's hands in front of him and chained him in the front, leaving him handcuffed. "Can you sit up?" he asked, still holding the line of rope bound to the chain.

Jesse tested his muscles, feeling quite a bit restored after his lengthy sleep, though nowhere near where he needed to be. He nodded, preparing to rise to his feet. There was no sense in trying to rush. He was of no use to Hannah if he f.u.c.ked up even more and got himself killed. His gaze remained on St. Cyr's chest. He needed just a few seconds to feel the vampire's chest. A heart beating within would tell him his course.

"All right." St. Cyr's large hands planted firmly but incredibly gently on Jesse's upper arms. The warm touch softened Jesse inside, almost causing tears to flood his eyes. He blinked back the salty sting and jerked his concentration onto his only mission: to get a hand onto St. Cyr's chest.

"Ready?"

Jesse nodded again and slid his bottom toward the edge of the soft mattress, the soles of his feet settling firmly on the luxurious Oriental carpet.

St. Cyr's hold tightened a bit on his arms and Jesse wished the touch weren't setting off the beginnings of an erection. He was naked and the vampire would see it immediately.

Jesse pushed off, his weight absorbed by St. Cyr's strong hands. His legs were unsteady, weak, not only from having been filled full of lead, but from the lead shackles against his wrists, bound together in front of him.

Then he realized this was his moment.

St. Cyr took a step back, encouraging him to walk. Jess took a small step and wobbled. He brought his bound hands up, one palm landing on the left pectoral muscle of St. Cyr's chest. The muscle twitched under his hand, warm and alive, the golden chest hairs softly caressing. The pad of his pinkie finger grazed St. Cyr's nipple. The smooth bud tightened in response.

St. Cyr's brow furrowed. He peered into Jesse's eyes "Are you all right?" he asked, huskiness tingeing his voice.

Jesse's heart lurched, certain for one terrifying moment that the vampire knew what he was about. He used every ounce of warrior's discipline he possessed to keep up his facade. "Yes.

I ... just need a moment." To his relief, St. Cyr nodded, the lines of concern in his face relaxing. "Take your time."

The scent of the vampire's skin and hair, a musk as intoxicating as incense filled Jesse's nostrils.

The vampire's rugged, sensual essence seeped into every pore of Jesse's body against his will.

He closed his eyes, forcing his attention to rest solely on the chest under his hand. Several seconds had pa.s.sed with no heartbeat. Several more pa.s.sed and the flesh of Jesse's palm met only with the vibrant hard muscle. Nothing underneath that could qualify as a heartbeat.

f.u.c.k.

St. Cyr was a soulless one. A desire-feeder. The kindness he was showing could only be an act, a subtle ploy to torment Jesse in his helpless state. The vampire had fed from him, creating a deep bond between them that could never be broken. Even though Jesse was already immortal and would not change in const.i.tution, he and St. Cyr belonged to each other.

Not that this meant St. Cyr was obligated to help him. It didn't work that way.

"Are you ready to continue?" St. Cyr's voice broke Jesse's tormented musings.

Jesse's shoulders sagged and he looked down, straining to remain squarely on his feet. "Yes."

Without another word, the vampire maneuvered to Jesse's side, his hip grazing Jesse's bare groin. Jesse gritted his teeth as his c.o.c.k hardened, the shaft filling rapidly, rising into its upward curve. Jesse felt St. Cyr pause, the vampire's gaze trained Jesse's erection, which now jutted mercilessly from his body, telling St. Cyr without words what Jesse wanted.

St. Cyr had the grace not to comment and put a supporting arm around Jesse's shoulders, half-carrying him the short distance to the bathroom.

The room reminded Jesse of Roman baths, a place he hadn't seen in many centuries. St. Cyr had exquisite taste in the way he'd obviously had custom marbles and stone installed, along with a shower large enough to fit five large men with two showerheads and gold fixtures. At the same time, the decadence of the decor belied the vampire's humble mannerisms. The furnishings of the bedroom, though luxurious, were far more understated. The bathroom, on the other hand, oozed with the desire for s.e.x and wet hot bodies plastered against each other, the scent of oils and soaps permeating the air.

In spite of his roiling emotions, Jesse bit back a groan of want. His c.o.c.k, still fully hard, tingled.

St. Cyr's rugged face lit with a smile. "I can see you like this room. I know it's quite a contrast to the bedroom, but I've always believed the bath is the most important room of the house." His tone sounded almost apologetic. "However, that aside, the shower is perfect for you because there's a place to sit down." He opened the large gla.s.s door and indicated the cool marble interior of the shower where a marble bench of sorts, wide enough for a man to lie down on, ran the length of the back wall.

The vampire's blue-eyed gaze fell to Jesse's wrists and his smile faded. "I can see that the shackles are hurting you." A deep sigh caused his chest to rise and fall enticingly under the white shirt he wore.

Jesse's heart quickened. Was it possible St. Cyr ... Christian ... was truly kind? In that moment, glad for his empathic ability to discern the vampire's real motives, his long-abused faith in love experienced a flutter of hope. "In truth, they do chafe a bit."

A pained look marred St. Cyr's handsome features. One large hand went to the pocket with the key. "Please forgive me." He produced the key and worked open the manacles, letting them fall from Jesse's wrists. The rush of air against his liberated skin was glorious and Jesse moved his hands around, relishing the freedom from lead. At the same time, an ache tugged his heart. How bitterly ironic that the vampire ... that ... Christian ... should apologize for having shackled a man who'd come to murder him. "Nothing to forgive," Jesse mumbled. "You ... had good reason." His own voice sounded strange to his ears, infused with an emotion he'd reserved only for Hannah ... and one other time for Sondra.

d.a.m.n! For the first time in hundreds of years, he heard tenderness seep into his voice. True tenderness. As much as his soul screamed out in protest, he had to admit to himself he'd met its missing half.

Christian let the manacles fall to the fluffy rug, which absorbed the sound of the metal's clinking.

His gaze rested on Jesse's face, obviously continuing the graceful act of ignoring Jesse's now throbbing hard on. "I suppose if you're going to kill me, weak or not, a few chains won't stop you."

Jesse stared back at him, helplessly trapped in the war between overwhelming desire for Christian and the need to fulfill his mission. With his heart careening into love, his body aching mercilessly for this vampire's touch, and his sister's life hanging by a thread, what the h.e.l.l was he going to do? "No, it won't stop me." The words slipped out before he realized what he was saying.

A sharp twinge of guilt stabbed him for letting Christian believe he still intended to kill him.

Christian reached out, and before Jesse knew what was happening, took one of Jesse's irritated wrists between his own large hands. Gently, in soft rubbing motions, Christian chafed the flesh, bringing back the circulation, his healing touch easing the discomfort the lead had caused.

Against his will, Jesse's eyes fluttered closed. He could no longer suppress the groan that now vibrated deep in his throat.

"That feels good, I take it?" Christian's voice had fallen several notches, its smooth tenor broken with a slight rasp.

Jesse nodded, unable to speak. Christian's touch rippled through his whole body, almost feeling as if the vampire's palm were lightly skating up and down the length of his erection.

"Good. I hate to think that I harmed you." Christian's voice oozed regret. He released that hand and picked up the other one, giving it the same tender caressing treatment. His blue eyes glowed, a sheen of desire coating their azure depths. He paused with Jesse's hand flat between his palms, looking as if he wanted to turn Jesse's hand over and kiss the wrist.

He didn't. Wordlessly, Christian released Jesse's hand and reached into the shower, turning the gold faucet. After several moments, steam began to billow through the open shower door.

Christian gently leaned Jesse against the gla.s.s wall, steadied him and began to work open the b.u.t.tons on his own shirt.

Jesse froze, his body pulsing with heated need. "What are you doing?" he breathed.

The blue of Christian's eyes blazed. "Well, I'm going in with you. If you're still injured, you'll need help getting washed off."

Chapter Six.

Jesse watched Christian remove his clothing. The vampire slid the white shirt off, revealing his broad chest in all its glory, his tawny nipples already tight with his obvious arousal. Jesse's gaze traveled from the heavier thatch of golden hair between his large pectoral muscles to the darksmooth trail it funneled into down his stomach. He tried not to look too obvious as the vampire unbuckled his trousers and let them slide down the strong columns of muscled legs, more golden hairs glinting off the sloping thighs and calves.