"Bit melodramatic, wasn't it?" Sean said, moving into place with his back to Christophe's back. "I thought vamps could fly."

"Some can. This lot are obviously the weaklings."

"We plan to kill you," the vampire said. "Unless you tell us, right now, who has Vanquish and where it is."

"Interesting form of suggestion," Christophe said. "Lots of vampires have planned to kill me before, bloodsucker."

He hurled the energy spheres, twin gleaming arcs of death that exploded the heads of the speaker and another vampire on contact.

"Usually only once," Christophe added.

The rest of the vampires, shrieking and hissing, leapt and crawled toward Christophe and Sean in a dark swarm of evil, bending and twisting in such inhuman ways that the mere sight of them almost made Fiona's heart stutter in her chest again. But she mentally kicked her own a.r.s.e to get moving.

She was the Scarlet Ninja, for Saint George's sake. She was not a helpless ninny. She threw herself into a low somersault between the legs of two vampires leaping around the back of her car, and escaped the closing perimeter of attackers.

When she looked back at them, Christophe had daggers in each hand and was-unbelievably-grinning. It was the fierce, exultant joy of a warrior in action, and she instantly knew in her heart that everything he'd told her about Atlantis was nothing but the truth. She ran back a few steps, carefully checking the vampire's vehicle to be sure no one was hiding in it, and pulled the slender vials out of the pouches inside her sleeves.

One of Hopkins's inventions, the thick plastic vials hid in the draped fabric of her loose sleeves. They fit in the palms of her hands and she could rapidly uncap them with a thumb, which she did. Then she headed back into the fray to surprise a few vampires.

She dashed out from behind the SUV then stopped, frozen in shock by the battle being waged with tooth and dagger in front of her. Never once in her time as a thief had she encountered violence on an up-close-and-personal level, and it was nothing like in the films. This blood didn't spray artistically through the air.

No, it stained the side of Sean's head and ran down Christophe's arm and the side of his chest. They were black stains, glistening wetness in the dark. The vampires didn't bleed, though. They exploded into a greenish-black wave of slime, which she knew would be acidic to the touch. Christophe and Sean had already killed at least four of them, maybe more, but there were seven left and they were attacking in waves, too close for one of Christophe's magic spears to be effective.

He sliced at one's head with his dagger and it yanked its head back, laughing and hissing at him.

"Fool. Do you think we are all so easy to kill? I have-" It stopped talking and shrieked, looking down. Though Fiona couldn't see its chest, it was easy enough to see what had happened.

There was a silvery tip poking out of the left side of its back.

Sean cried out as a vamp sank its teeth into the side of his neck, and the sight broke Fiona out of her shock. She heard a scream, the sound like that of a banshee's death herald, but she was running before she realized that she she was the one screaming. She hurtled full speed into the back of the vampire attacking Sean, and dashed the entire contents of the vial onto the side of its face. was the one screaming. She hurtled full speed into the back of the vampire attacking Sean, and dashed the entire contents of the vial onto the side of its face.

The vampire shrieked so loudly something in her ear ca.n.a.ls popped with the pain, but she held on desperately to its shoulders as it released Sean, flailing around and clawing at the smoking ruin of its face and eye. The holy water carved creva.s.ses in its flesh, and she threw herself away from it as it fell to the ground, screeching and hissing.

She dropped the empty vial, still holding on to the shadows that concealed her from sight, smell, and sound, and ran to the left a few paces away from the dying vampire. The rest of them had to know someone-or something-had attacked from behind, and she didn't want to be caught in a blind sweep.

"Princess, I'm going to kill you when we get out of here," Christophe yelled, fury riding the planes and angles of his face.

He launched himself into the air, pure blue-green fire shimmering in glowing streams around his entire body, and tackled three of the vampires who'd decided to leap over her car toward him and Sean. It was like watching a martial arts film where the action star was a master sorcerer. He twirled in midair and leveled a flying kick at the first vamp's throat, then followed it up with a dagger in its heart as it fell backward. Before that vamp even hit the ground, Christophe grabbed the head of the second vamp and slammed its face down onto his knee so hard that the resulting crunch sounded like lightning snapping a dead tree trunk. Energy pulsed between his hands, brief but fierce, and the vamp's head imploded, then disappeared.

Fiona didn't have time to watch any more, though, because one of the vampires was sniffing the ground, crawling on hands and feet like a deranged hound from h.e.l.l. Its body moved in ways that bodies were not meant to move, as though it were boneless or at least had a flexible spine.

"I know you're here, Princess Princess," it hissed, the sibilants hanging in the air. "Playing with toys you shouldn't have? I'm going to crunch on your bones when I'm done draining you dry."

She waited, silent as the grave she had no intention of going to-at least not today-until it was in range. Then she hurled the contents of the second vial into its face and threw herself back and to the side as fast as she could, to escape the reach of its arms as it threw its body forward in a last, desperate leap even as it screamed and squealed its way to a horrific death.

Over the drops of water that had fallen to the pavement a faint golden glow hovered for an instant before winking out, and she had a heartbeat of crystallized time in which to wonder what G.o.d thought about blessed water being used to kill. But then Christophe pulled her up and into his arms, crushing her in a fierce embrace until she thought her lungs might burst.

"Don't ever, ever, ever, do that again," he commanded, somewhat ruining the severity of his command by compulsively kissing her again and again.

She pushed him away after a minute or so, shoving against the rock-hard wall of his chest. "Really? Don't join in the fight when people I care about are in danger?" She glared up at him. "Have you met met me?" me?"

Then she ran to Sean, who was leaning back against the car, bent over and breathing hard, and threw her arms around him. "Are you okay? How bad is it?"

She pulled his head up so she could examine his neck. The wound was ragged but only dripping, not spurting, blood.

"Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d," she said, over and over. "If you died because of me-"

"I'm too tough to kill," he said, managing a grin. "Anyway, this wasn't because of you. Far as I can tell, it was due to those vamps. Six of which I killed, by the way."

He straightened, puffing out his chest, and she couldn't help it. She pulled him to her and planted a big kiss on his cheek. Even in the dim light, she could see him flush hot.

"That, youngling, is why men the world over will do anything for a beautiful woman," Christophe said dryly. He gently nudged Fiona aside to examine Sean's wound. "You're going to have a scar, but it's not bad. Unfortunately, better clean it out."

He turned to Fiona. "Do you happen to have any more of that holy water, Invisible Girl? Sooner is better."

"This is going to hurt really badly, isn't it?" Sean's throat worked but he tilted his head so they could get at his neck.

"Like all the fires of the nine h.e.l.ls are searing your flesh," Christophe admitted, far too cheerfully. "Every warrior worth his daggers goes through it at least once, although our remedy isn't quite the same as yours."

"What do you mean?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know." Christophe looked around them, his eyes narrowing. "Anybody notice something odd here?"

"You mean, we're still in London, one of the busiest cities in the world, and n.o.body else has come down this alley during this entire time?" Fiona nodded, pulling another vial of blessed water from her sleeve and holding it up to Christophe, who nodded. "Yes, I noticed. In fact, how are they-"

"Accomplices," Sean said. "It's how we used to do it. Bloke at each end when there was going to be trouble. We'd call out a warning."

"A warning is one thing," Christophe said. "An empty alley for the better part of half an hour is another. I'd guess sorcerers. If they're enthralled, we're either in big trouble, or they're dead. Interesting that they thought we knew where the Siren is. Must mean the vampires don't have it. Or at least this group of vamps."

"Let's do this," Fiona said. She took a deep breath as if she would feel her own flesh sear. She wished it could be. She She deserved it, not Sean. Her games as the Scarlet Ninja were what had put him in jeopardy. deserved it, not Sean. Her games as the Scarlet Ninja were what had put him in jeopardy.

"Just do it, Princess. Quick and get it over with," Christophe said, not unsympathetically. "The antic.i.p.ation is almost worse."

She held her breath and upended the vial over Sean's wound, which sizzled and hissed like b.u.t.ter on a hot griddle. Sean sucked in a sharp breath and then said a few words she hadn't known he even remembered from the old days.

"More," Christophe said.

"But-"

"More."

She opened her last vial and poured it directly on top of the bubbling mess on Sean's neck, feeling the hot tears escaping her eyes. By the time she'd finished the vial, it poured clear and all signs of steam or infection had disappeared.

"That should do it," Christophe said, nodding once. "When it doesn't react any more, it's cleaned out. Now we get out of here."

"Home. Sean needs to rest. And you're bleeding, too." Relieved of the worry over Sean, she was swamped by fear for Christophe. She tore open his shirt like a wild woman to look at the wound in his chest.

He caught her hands in his own and kissed her knuckles. "I'm fine, mi amara mi amara. A scratch. Atlanteans heal faster than humans, too. Now we need to get out of here. Sean?"

Sean nodded and headed for the vehicle blocking their way, while Christophe headed for the one parked in the middle of the street.

"Search for anything interesting," Christophe called, and Fiona ran around her car to the SUV on the other side, leaping over the piles of still-dissolving slime that was all that was left of their attackers. A great many people were warning them away from the search for Vanquish. The important questions were why and who had it.

She made quick work searching the SUV, and found nothing, which was what she'd expected. The percentage of vampires who bothered to register with authorities and get any kind of official papers was still frighteningly small. Why lease a car when you could enthrall a human into giving it to you?

She made sure not to leave her fingerprints anywhere, slammed the door shut, and returned to Sean and Christophe. "Nothing."

"In either of these two, either," Christophe reported.

Sean shook his head, strain showing clearly on his face. "Not this one, either."

"Now. We leave now," Christophe said.

"I'm driving," Fiona announced. "Sean, you rest in the back."

Sean tried to protest, but Christophe opened the door to the backseat and pointed, and Sean half climbed, half fell into the car, the reaction from the battle finally hitting him. Christophe closed the door and turned to Fiona.

"I still need to go to those pubs and find out what in the h.e.l.ls is going on," Christophe said.

"Not without me."

"It's not like I will allow you to drive home unaccompanied, either. Not after that attack." He tilted her chin up with his finger and kissed her.

"I'm not a fan of the word 'allow,' but I'll admit the more the merrier," she said.

"Please, then. Please get in your vehicle now and drive home as quickly as you can, in a straight line."

She opened the door and paused. "Wait. Where are you going to be?"

He pointed up, then leapt into the air and, right in front of her eyes, transformed into a sparkling cloud of mist that soared into the air over the car and hovered there.

Please drive now, she heard in her head, and she didn't have any energy left to debate the possibility or impossibility of telepathic conversation. She just slanted her body into the car, turned the key in the ignition, and drove.

Chapter 21

Campbell Manor

Christophe waited, watching her every minute, but the shaking didn't start for a while. First, she'd seen Sean safely into Hopkins's care. Declan was sleeping, but she'd gone to his room and checked on him even after Hopkins rea.s.sured her. Denal sat in a chair by Declan's window, daggers resting on his lap. He rose when they entered the room, but Christophe had already communicated with him so he knew there was no threat.

She leaned over and kissed her brother's forehead, smoothing a strand of hair away, and Christophe was struck by the realization that she must have done the same so many times as the boy grew up. Declan didn't wake, but he smiled in his sleep.

Fiona raised a hand to Declan but didn't speak; she just turned and left the room. Christophe followed her, desiring with every fiber of his being that he could protect her from what came next, but helpless to understand how. If only Conlan were here, or Bastien. They were so much better with women and emotion.

He had never so desperately wished he knew how to comfort another.

She made it to her room and then to the shower, peeling her clothes and wig off along the way and letting them fall to the floor in a trail of discarded disguise. Moving robotically, stumbling as she walked, Fiona turned the water on to full heat and then climbed into the billowing steam in her gla.s.s-enclosed shower.

That's when the shaking finally began.

Full-body shudders wracked her body as she leaned against the wall, and the gla.s.s trembled with the force of her pain. Christophe stripped out of his own clothes in an instant and entered the shower, pulling her into his arms.

"Shh, mi amara mi amara. Shh. It's over now. Let it out, let it all out, but it's over now. It's all over. Shh. I'm right here for you." He smoothed her hair away from her face, over and over, as she sobbed as if her heart were shattering in her chest.

"He could have died. He could have died. Did I rescue him from his murderous father only to kill him myself? He's only twenty-two years old, Christophe, and he could have died died." A fresh wave of grief and reaction took her, and he could do nothing but hold her, rocking back and forth, until it subsided a little and she could listen to him.

Listen to reason.

"You can't take the blame for that attack. They said they wanted me to stop asking about Vanquish. They didn't even know who you were, in that wig and makeup. Me. Not you. It is I who bear the blame."

She lifted her face to him, her eyes reddened with pain and fury. "No. No. Let's put the blame where it belongs. On those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who stole the sword, and murdered the guards. On those vampires who attacked us."

"I'm wondering if they're the same."

"If they already have the sword, why would they care about us?"

"It might have been misdirection. But we don't need to worry about this now. Now you should rest."

"No," she said again. "Now I want you inside me. I want to feel something other than horror and fear and rage." She lifted her arms and put them around his neck. "Make me feel, Christophe."

And so he did. He lifted her in his arms and joined his body to hers, taking her there in the steaming heat. He directed the channels of water to swirl around her and caress her even as he held her and murmured nonsense words into her ear and thrust steadily home. She cried a little as she held him and kissed him, and the shudders of reaction gently, gradually, turned to trembling of a different sort entirely.

Their joining was not about pa.s.sion and possession but a declaration of need; the simple need to experience warmth and light. To face their own mortality without doing so alone. He'd wanted s.e.x after battle before, on many occasions. It was a purely chemical reaction to the adrenaline charge of a fight.

This was utterly, completely, different. This was seeking comfort and the welcome of home. He was fiercely proud to be the one she needed, and as if in reaction to the thought, the barrier between her soul and his began to open, surrounding them with heat and light. Her soul danced around her, a shifting dream of blues. But the lovely colors were darkened; tinged with black shadows and the somber gray of grief. It caught him off guard and he ceased to move within her.

She lifted her head from his shoulder, her eyes dazed and unfocused, and he decided to delay the choice. The time wasn't right-he'd once thought the time would never be right-for the soul-meld. He used every ounce of focus and discipline he'd ever learned to shut the doorway to his soul. To keep her own at bay.

The icy chill of loss swept through him, and he wondered if the miraculous gift of the soul-meld, once offered and rejected, would ever be offered again. But Fiona lifted her lips to his and he sought refuge in her warmth and her pa.s.sion, and he achieved his release as she cried out her own climax. When he finally released her, they quickly finished their shower, dried in huge towels, and he carried her to bed, pulling her into his arms and tucking the coverlets around them.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, setting magical wards around the room so none could enter it without his admittance, and then he kissed her.

"Rest now, beautiful one. Tomorrow we will figure this all out." He kissed her again, and then, wrapped around her warm, still-trembling body, he watched her for a very long time, until she fell into a troubled sleep. When her steady breathing finally told him she'd succ.u.mbed to her exhaustion, he lay there, content simply to hold her, until dawn brushed its golden fingers against her windows. Then, at last, he, too, fell asleep.

Fiona woke up enveloped in warmth and the sensation of perfect safety for the first time since she'd taken up the role of the Scarlet Ninja. She blinked, disoriented by the large, muscular arm resting across her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then memory flooded back and her face and other, more intimate, parts of her warmed. Christophe. The shower. The way she'd practically begged him to make love to her.

Well. They were beyond petty embarra.s.sments now. She was not a girl on a blind date. She was a grown woman. He was most definitely all man. Together, they'd battled vampires and survived. Anyway, he'd been more than willing.