She glared at the n.o.ble tilt of his chin, not missing the faint trembling of his lips. She knew now wasn't the time for a confrontation, but couldn't seem to stop herself from pressing on. "There you go again, making all my decisions. You're such an arrogant pig. I'm not a child, Nicholas."

His eyes widened. "I thought that's what you'd want."

"How about you ask me what I want...just once," she said with exasperation.

He took a step back, and a frown marred his features. "Don't you want to go home?"

She opened her mouth, but no answer emerged. She stared at him. Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lower lip, wincing as her fang pierced the swollen flesh. She sighed.

"Emily?" There was a faint shadow of hope in his eyes, but it disappeared quickly, as if he made a conscious effort to will it away. "What do you want?" She still didn't answer. Earlier, she had told him she didn't want him to send her away, but that was before she realized she could go home. A tear streaked down her cheek as she imagined sleeping in her own bed, waking to the smell of Sunday breakfast wafting up the stairs, studying for the term's finals, fighting with her little brother...

Never seeing Nicholas again.

She drew in a harsh breath. "I don't know," she whispered.

His frown deepened. "What?"

Emily turned away from him. "I don't know what I want. I have to think about it. Let's just go to bed, okay? I'm exhausted, and now really isn't the time for this."

He nodded and walked to the door. "Good night."

She sighed heavily and turned around. "Where are you going?"

He turned partially to face her. "I'm going to bed. The couch..."

She rolled her eyes. "I thought we had settled that."

He hesitated. "But what about-"

"I don't want to think about it right now." She brushed tangled strands of hair off her forehead. "I don't want to think about anything right now. Nor do I want to be alone."

He nodded. "Very well. Let me speak with Brannon, and I'll join you shortly."

"I'll take a shower." Emily watched him go, wondering at the odd dart of pain near her heart. She should be furious with him, not inviting him to share her bed. She went into the bathroom, a ma.s.s of confusion.

She was angry, but also remembered their connection in the sitting room, the way he had shared his grief, and the way their emotions entwined. She didn't know how she should feel after an experience like that.

Perhaps the simplest way to deal with her emotions tonight was to ignore them all. She nodded her head emphatically as she dropped Nicholas's ruined shirt on the floor and started the shower. Yes, that was the right course of action to take. Maybe tomorrow, once the terror of the evening faded, she would be able to focus on what she had learned tonight. Maybe she could come to terms with her conflicting emotions and decide if she wanted Nicholas out of her life forever.

She stepped under the stinging spray, remembering with some nostalgia how easy that decision would have been just a few days ago. She wouldn't have hesitated to return home when he first changed her.

She would have gladly stayed in Huxley if she hadn't returned to find herself a murder suspect. It hadn't been nearly so complicated before she began falling in love with him.

She halted in the act of reaching for a sample bottle of shampoo, shaking her head, trying to dispel the disturbing thought, but it refused to leave her alone. With a weary shrug, she lifted the shampoo and stuck her head under the stream of water. It was too much effort to sort through her feelings tonight, and it wasn't as if she could make herself fall out of love with him by her thoughts alone, if she had begun to slip down that precipice. * * * * *

When she returned to the bedroom, she found Nicholas in bed waiting for her. The covers rested around his waist, and his bare chest caused her to catch her breath. She wondered what he wore under the blanket, if anything. Her mouth got dry just thinking about that. Emily gestured at the bathrobe she had wrapped herself in. "Um, can you turn your head or something? I can't sleep in this."

"The hotel provides pajamas." He gestured to a set lying at the foot of the bed on her side. He turned over on his side with his face averted.

Emily scooped up the pajamas and returned to the bathroom. She changed quickly and draped the damp robe over the hook on the back of the door, ignoring a twinge of nerves as she returned to the bedroom. What would it be like to sleep with Nicholas? Would he try to make love with her? She scowled, looking forward to setting him straight on that idea.

She couldn't help a small frown when she climbed into her side of the bed and found his back still to her.

She waited for him to turn around and take her in his arms, but he didn't. Cautiously, she scooted a bit closer, until her hand brushed against his back.

"Good night." He sounded distant. He didn't turn to her after he extinguished the lamp on his side of the bed.

Emily followed suit before attempting to settle into a comfortable position. Nicholas had taken the side of the bed she always slept on, and she glared at his back. Well, he certainly was comfortable with the arrangement. He hadn't even turned to look at her.

A sound at the window caused her heartbeat to accelerate and forced her thoughts from her irritation.

She turned to look, but saw nothing. She touched Nicholas's back. "What happens if Koss finds us here?"

He didn't speak for a long moment. When he did, he gave a half-answer. "Brannon and I have created a strong shield to hide our presence. He shouldn't be able to detect us here."

"But if he does?"

His silence filled the room. It grew oppressive before he said, "I'll die to protect you."

She shivered, knowing what he didn't say told her more than what he had. She couldn't quite choke back a sob, but pressed her fist against her mouth to m.u.f.fle it.

He heard anyway and turned around, taking her into his arms. "Don't be afraid. Koss has a pattern.

He'll typically strike, doing as much damage as possible, and then retreat for a time. Just when I think he's finally died or decided to leave me alone, he appears again."

"How long had it been since you last saw him?" Her voice was thick with tears, and she rubbed her cheek against his bare chest. She could feel the cotton of his pajama bottoms against her feet when she experimentally tested his leg.

"I hadn't seen Koss since he took you from me last time." His voice broke. "I returned home to find you and the babe dead. He and his entourage had waited." She squeezed her eyes shut at his words.

"They restrained me, watching while Koss toyed with me for a while. He described Erin's death in detail, including how William took our baby..." Nicholas's voice was raspy, indicating he held back tears. "He told me it was my fault for resisting..." He trailed into silence, and it was long moment before he spoke again. "Then he left, but William stayed behind."

Her eyes popped open at the second mention of his brother's name. She concentrated, remembering the man who had remained in shadows during Koss's murder of Erin. It must have been his brother. Her hand found his under the covers, and she squeezed it. "What happened?"

"He was an adept pupil. Koss had trained him well in the art of pain. William spent several hours torturing me with fire, holy water, and a whip he soaked in more holy water." Nicholas expelled a harsh breath. "I lost the last remnants of my faith that night."

She wondered how much of his disillusionment had come from losing her again, and how much had been self-preservation to avoid the brunt of the pain from William's torture.

"He didn't expect me to get free. He definitely didn't expect me to be stronger than he was. I don't think he had Koss's permission to kill me, but he tried anyway." His voice grew thick, as if he was suppressing tears. "What kept me fighting was knowing what they had done to you and our daughter. I knew I had to find you again. I had to live, so I killed him."

His tone had been neutral, but Emily knew it must have cost him dearly to murder his own brother, even under those circ.u.mstances. She scooted closer to him, laying her cheek on his shoulder. She felt the ma.s.s of scars there, stroking it with her fingers. "William?"

"Yes." He pulled her closer. "Rest now, beloved. Try to clear your mind of all these thoughts."

Emily closed her eyes and curled against him. Despite the exhaustion she felt in every cell of her body, she didn't see how either of them would be able to sleep, but could tell he didn't feel like speaking. What would he say if he did? Would he explain why Koss wanted him? Would he tell her about his father and how he grieved to have lost him again? Would they form that same connection they'd had earlier? She sighed, not knowing what she wanted, aside from an excuse to evade sleep.

Her thoughts drifted, and she found herself remembering backyard BBQs, summer nights spent in her tree house, her first kiss in ninth grade and shared secrets with Sara. Inevitably, although she had decided not to think about it tonight, her thoughts turned to the choice Nicholas had offered her. Did she want to go home, or was her place with him now? Maybe she didn't belong anywhere anymore.

A part of her longed to return to her old life, to attempt to recapture those moments, but she knew that wasn't possible. She had outgrown the tree house. Next year, she would be living in a dorm in the city, so there would be precious few days at home for backyard picnics. She could never have back that first kiss, and after Nicholas had kissed her, she didn't know if she would want another man to anyway. And there was no way to see Sara again. Her friend was gone forever, murdered at the hands of the man snoring softly next to her.

She tilted her head to look at his face in profile. Even in sleep, his face still bore marks of pain, and he groaned softly now and then. The night had followed him into his dreams.

She tried to view him harshly, forcing herself to imagine him murdering Sara. She closed her eyes,concentrating on supplying all the details. Even when she was convinced she had captured the incident in complete Technicolor gore, she wasn't able to summon more than a mixture of anger and pain.

He was a murderer, but so was she. It was their nature. She had reveled in killing those people in the alley, who had surely been someone's best friends, once upon a time. She hadn't even thought about their lives or the people affected by their deaths, such as their disabled son.

Whenever she fed from someone, she would always have to fight the urge to kill her victim. He had probably murdered countless people in eight hundred years, but how many would she have killed in that time? How many would she kill in her future?

Could her family accept her if they knew what she had become? Did she have a place at home? Could she hide what she had become? What if she turned against someone she knew, someone she loved? Her parents or her brother, even.

She whimpered, trying to convince herself that couldn't happen, but unable to a.s.suage the worry. In the grip of hunger, she might do anything to anyone. Even if it weren't a member of her family, would they stand behind her if she murdered someone in their small community?

Would she ever find anyone who could understand her struggle other than the man beside her? He wouldn't revile her for what she was, because he had created her. He was the same as she was. She would find acceptance with him.

She sighed, not knowing if that was enough. Maybe she would be better off leaving everything behind.

She could move somewhere where no one knew her and start over. It would have to be a big city to hide her lapses more easily. She would have to remain aloof from everyone. No one would be able to get close to her, including men, and she would have pushed away Nicholas.

Emily firmed her mouth, doing her best to rid herself of the thoughts weighing on her mind. She couldn't make a firm decision tonight. It did no good to dwell on maybes. She closed her eyes and tried to will herself to sleep. To her surprise, she felt consciousness slipping from her grasp within a few short minutes.

1214, Arsuf (the Holy Land) Emily knew she was dreaming, but it didn't feel the same as her previous memory-dreams. She didn't seem to fit, and there was a sense of confusion as to where she was. At first, she a.s.sumed it was just a regular dream, with no significance, before realizing she was on a battlefield. She lifted her head to examine the area, frowning when she saw an ocean of sand surrounding her.

Amid the sand was the carnage of battle. Hundreds of men-English, French and Middle Eastern-lay side by side, unified in death as they had not been in life. Scattered among the dead and dying were the horses. Some men and animals still cried out their anguish with pitiful screams and neighs, but most had fallen silent hours ago.

She lay propped against her horse, she realized. She craned her head and saw a spear sticking out its throat. A wave of nausea rolled in her stomach, and she heaved on the ground beside her.

A fierce pain flashed through her stomach as she vomited, and she cried out, leaning forward.Cautiously, Emily examined the wound under her chain mail, lifting her hands to look at them under the harsh light of the sun and gasping at the blood coating her hands. The wound must be fatal.

Slowly, she became acclimated to the body she was viewing this from and realized she was sharing Nicholas's memories. Emily felt herself drifting, until she hovered at the back of his mind, still able to see what he saw and feel what he felt, but without the sensation she was the one experiencing it. She was a bystander and unable to affect the outcome.

He knew he was dying. There couldn't be any question of that. Two days ago, when William saw the sword sticking through his stomach, he had ordered a squire to pull it out. Then he had knelt beside Nicholas, touched his shoulder, and promised to look after the Vallsade estates once Father pa.s.sed on.

Along with the rest of the army, they had ridden from Arsuf, flush with the victory against Saladin, and prepared to continue their march on Jerusalem.

Never once when planning to embark on the Crusades had he imagined he would end up dead in a foreign land, and without having laid eyes on the Holy City. Nicholas cursed his arrogance as he cradled his stomach. He thought of his sweet Emma waiting at home in England, where the rain fell plentifully, and his life would have been happy, if rather mundane. She would never be his bride now, would never know he had realized how foolish his quest was.

What had he been thinking, to leave her alone and join in the fight to reclaim the Holy Land? He hadn't even stopped to ask her if she minded him going. He had blithely a.s.sumed she would be waiting for him, as was her duty. He had never doubted his return as the conquering hero.

"Emma," he said aloud, wishing he could touch her beautiful face once more. He longed to stroke her dark hair and kiss her soft lips. He cursed himself yet again for the lost opportunities when he had chosen to honor the rules of chivalry rather than so much as hold her hand. She should have been the last lover of his life, not the wh.o.r.e he had paid for on their march through France.

If he could, he would throw himself at her feet and beg for her forgiveness. When he should be spending his last few minutes of life praying, his thoughts remained centered on her. "Forgive me," he whispered as he fell back against Falco's side. The horse stank of decomposition, as did the wound in his stomach. If the blood loss didn't do him in quickly enough, the rot would. He could feel his life fading and began to pray to G.o.d to send an angel to ease his suffering. His eyes closed, but continued to move his lips in silent prayer until he drifted off into a restless sleep.

He awoke sometime later, aware of the stealthy sound of footsteps coming in his direction. When the man approached, Nicholas thought he was an angel of mercy, until he stepped closer. He wore the armor of the enemy, and he had the same darker skin and weapons of a Saracen, although his features were different. He must have come to finish the job, not content to let nature subject Nicholas to a torturous death. He fumbled for his sword, but it wasn't beside him. With his last bit of strength, he spat at the enemy. "Go on, infidel, run me through with your curved blade. It will be a blessing."

"Such pain," the man said, but his lips didn't move. "You drew me to you."

"Aye, it hurts." He frowned. "How is it you speak in the Lord's tongue?"

The man laughed. "I am not really speaking to you. I am in your mind, dear Nicholas."

His eyes widened. "How do you know my name?" The man crouched beside him. "Your suffering is a beacon, and it drew me to you. It is not your physical pain I sensed, for that surrounds us from many sources even now, two days after Richard's army withdrew. No, it is your emotional anguish I feel so strongly...and something else less definable." He touched Nicholas's cheek. "How may I ease your suffering?"

"Kill me." He didn't like the hint of pleading in his tone, but the man offered a way out of his torment.

"Do not let my anguish draw out any longer."

"How would you like your precious betrothed by your side?"

Nicholas nodded. "One day, in Heaven-"

The man scoffed. "You have no need to wait for eternal reward. I can grant you eternal life."

He scowled. "Do not toy with me, infidel."

The man's hand tightened on his cheek, causing his nails to dig in painfully. "Do not call me any name but master, young one. I offer you what men would kill for. Do not rebuff me."

"How?" Nicholas managed to ask as a fiery pain burned through his belly and up to his throat.

"You do not need to know how. You only need to accept one condition."

He bent forward as the burning turned to ice. His head spun, and he knew death sat beside him, ready to whisk him away. "Wh-wha-what?"

"You are mine for as long as I want you."

He screamed as the pain returned, and it drained the last of his strength. He fell back against his dead horse, eyeing the man uncertainly, noticing his ugly scar for the first time. "Emma...I need her."

"You will have her...eventually. If you agree to my terms, you shall live forever."

"Emma," he said again, his voice a mere whisper.

"Yes," the man said impatiently. "She will be yours. I swear."

Anything was worth it-even his soul, if that was what the man wanted. He briefly wondered if he was making a bargain with Satan, but couldn't muster the energy to care.

He laughed. "No. I do not want your soul, young one."

He frowned when the man read his thoughts. Nicholas stared up at him, fascinated by the scar, wanting to ask where it came from. His vision grew dim, and he thought he felt Emma's hands on his body. His head slumped forward, and he yelped when the man jerked on his hair.

"Do not sleep yet. Give me your answer. Will you pledge an oath to belong to me if I save you?"

He nodded, barely able to move his head.

"I know how you knights are bound by your word, so I must have your verbal promise. Swear to me." "Swear."

The man moved so quickly Nicholas didn't see him. One second, he was a few inches away, and the next, the man's face was against his throat. He cried out at a flash of pain, but it quickly faded to pleasing warmth that encompa.s.sed his body. He stiffened, thinking death had finally come. "Emma," he whispered.

"Master," the man corrected in a steely tone. "Your first loyalty lies with me now."