They were both online already, swapping vamp stats.

"Dusty, do I need to send someone to Miami to fix your IT?" he asked as a message popped upon his screen.

"You know he's a techno-phobe," Jule said. "Still using stamps and envelopes."

I prefer the personal touch to this e-s.h.i.t.

"Hey, there's something I need to tell you guys," Damian said grimly. "The Watchers are in town, and they may be dropping by to visit."

There was a pause in activity.

Uh, oh.

"You have no idea," he said. "We'll talk when you're in town. Watcha got for me tonight?"

"Ok, Ikira, what do you See?"

She tentatively touched Pierre's outstretched arm. He took his place on the sparring field, and Grande leaned close to her.

"He'll win in seven moves," she told him.

"Pierre for the kill," Grande said, handing Han one from the wad of dollars in his hand.

"This is working too well," Han said, eyeing her.

"If only you could touch horses," Grande said with a sigh of exaggerated melancholy. "We'd be kings at the races."

She was getting a better grip on her newfound talent. She was able to predict the winner of their rounds without flashes of their deaths. Han motioned him away, and Grande shifted down a seat.

"Isn't there a better use for your gift than lining Grande's pockets?" he asked.

"I asked you the other day, and you weren't at all helpful," she reminded him. "If you have any ideas, let me know."

Her stomach growled loudly. She ignored Han's knowing look.

"I win again!" Grande exclaimed as Pierre's opponent went down. "Dos dolares, senor."

"Enough," Han said. "No more bets with Ikira. It's called cheating in the real world."

"You have any other magic tricks for us?" Pierre called to her.

"Not today."

"Magic tricks," Han muttered. "In my day, oracles were the most revered, most feared and celebrated. This generation has no idea. Including you, Ikira. You're all f.u.c.king idiots."

"You're no fun today, Han. What gives?" she said, surprised.

He grimaced in response. She touched his arm.

"You're leaving me," she said, saddening. "Why?"

"Battle is what we do," he answered then looked at her. "What did you see?"

Damian's rules for oracles returned to her.

"You'll live," she said.

After your leg is broken next week.

He appeared relieved, and she felt guilty. And hungry. Always hungry. She chewed her lip and glanced at her own wrist. Did her blood taste half as good as Damian's? She made a face, drooling at the thought of Damian's blood again.

"I guess I'm done here," she said and rose.

She placed a checkmark next to the first of her ideas for learning to use her power. She wandered the mansion as she often did, restless and starving. She found herself again in front of Damian's door. She'd been there twice before today and only knocked once for fear he'd answer. And then she'd tried to eat chocolate and ended up in the bathroom even weaker and hungrier.

I don't want this!

Her stomach growled. Angry, she turned to leave when Damian's door opened. He was dressed again all in black, a color that should have minimized his size but just amplified how ripped he was beneath the clothing.

"You need something?" he asked with a casualness that p.i.s.sed her off, as if he didn't know why she was there.

"No."

"Alrighty then."

He closed his door.

He was messing with her - he knew she was hungry!

He promised!

She sighed and knocked. He answered again.

"You need something?"

"Yes," she grated. "I do."

He pushed the door open. She entered and saw car keys on the table near the door.

"Are you going to town?"

"Yep."

Bet he's got a girl in town.

"Figures."

"Pardon?" he asked, looking up from the wallet he rifled through.

"Nothing."

"You finish your thoughts out loud pretty often."

"Bad habit."

"I think it's cute."

Maybe I do.

"That is not cool," she told him.

"The girl or the ability to read minds?"

She gritted her teeth and turned to go, trying not to think of how jealous the idea of another woman made her.

"There's no girl," he called. "You can stay."

"I wasn't -"

"Yes you were. Sit down."

He was amused and she fuming, her emotions scattered by his mere presence.

I have no right to be jealous. If he has a woman, he has a woman.

"Sofia, stop thinking and sit down."

She obeyed, embarra.s.sed.

"There's no woman, though I'm flattered," he said, sitting beside her on the couch with knife in hand.

The sight of the knife made her squeamish.

"I keep trying to entice you, but you seem immune to me," he teased. "No other woman has been able to resist me. It's fascinating."

"I appreciate you trying to make me feel less nervous, but you shouldn't lie to me," she snapped.

"I can have any woman I want. I wouldn't bother with you if I didn't want you."

The edge of arrogance surprised her. She looked at him. His look was intent, the gold of his irises swirling.

"Let's get this over with, so you don't miss your hot date," she said coolly.

He lifted her chin with one finger. His lips brushed hers, and she felt something within her melt at the simple touch. Hunger for him - not just his blood - roared through her. He kissed her gently, tasting her, savoring her. At his prodding, she opened her mouth. His mouth was hot, his flavor as addictive as his blood. He nipped at her lips, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. He pressed her back against the couch, and she yielded, her hands touching his face, his soft hair, his neck. Touching him sent warm energy racing through her blood. Maybe he had a harem of women at his beck and call, but she couldn't see herself with any other man. Ever.

"You believe me now?" he whispered against her lips, pulling away.

She sighed in response.

"The offer's always open," he a.s.sured her. "Now drink."

He placed his bloodied wrist to her mouth. She closed her eyes, body on fire as she drank from him while imagining what his mouth could do to the rest of her body. When she was sated, she pushed his arm away. He had turned away again and was chewing his knuckle.

"Why do you do that?" she asked, embarra.s.sed when her voice came out husky. "Are you in pain?"

"Not the kind you'd understand."

"What do you mean not the kind I'd understand?" she persisted, standing. "I don't want to hurt you, Damian."

His eyes were closed. He gave a hoa.r.s.e, husky laugh at her words.

"I mean, when you do that, I want to f.u.c.k you, and if you don't leave like, NOW, I'm gonna drag you into my bed and - "

She ran before he finished, emotions roiling and high off the kiss and his blood. Though she couldn't see her own fate, she began to suspect which direction it'd take her in.

"Any day now!" he shouted as he pa.s.sed her room to leave.

She stood in a dark, cold place, gazing at the hunched form in the corner. She couldn't tell if he was human or beast. While afraid, she knew whatever he was, he needed help. Her help.

Darian stirred, pushing himself farther into the corner. She approached and knelt a safe distance from him, trying hard to see into the darkness of the corner. She couldn't make him out.

"What do you want from me?"she whispered.

"Free me."

While his form was large enough to be a man the size of Damian's Guardians, his voice was terrified and gravelly, as if he hadn't ever spoken to anyone.

"Are you ok?" she asked, creeping forward.

He began to cry, the soul-deep weeping of a man who'd lost all and spent his tormented life in a level of h.e.l.l she'd never be able to imagine. The sound made her gut twist and her chest tighten. Tears formed in her eyes at the heartbreaking sound of his pain. She moved closer and held out her hand. He reached for her, but his scarred hand pa.s.sed through hers, as if all that remained of him was a ghost of the man he'd been. She made out the shape of the bottom of a tattoo on his bicep, what looked like a half-sun. The rest was shrouded in darkness.

Darian wouldn't leave her alone. The scene played over and over in her thoughts, growing stronger until he was as vivid during daylight as he had been at night. She rubbed her temples then issued a challenging glare to the contents of the pantry, furious once more she could eat none of the wonderful things it held.

"G.o.ds. She does this a few times a day. She can't eat food, but she refuses to admit it to herself," Han explained to Pierre. "Since you'll be her new "

"Babysitter," she interjected.

"Exactly. You'll be holding her hair for her in the bathroom several times a day."

"She cannot eat?" Pierre asked with a frown.

"No. She's blood bound."

His look turned from disappointed to approving.