Byron circled back, floating almost lazily in the clouds. He kept the woman in his sight as she slipped in and out of the trees.

He could see her head continually turning left and right, eyes s.h.i.+fting restlessly, her body hunched. She was carrying a small package, plain brown wrapper tied with a single string. She took the more difficult climb winding steadily away from the city and the cliffs, moving inland, moving ever upward.

Byron caught the scent of the cat. The smell was wild and pungent and evil. At once his lazy facade disappeared entirely, and he was on the alert, streaking through the skies toward the groves of trees near the top of the mountain. Lines and lines of trees dotted the hillside. He swirled around the trunks. The odor was strong in the grove. A large cat had spent some time rubbing against the bark, stretching out in the branches. The wind s.h.i.+fted, whispering to Byron. Bringing with it the scent of freshly spilled blood. The coppery scent permeated the air, rose on the wind.

Marita screamed. The sound sent birds scattering from night perches into the air so that for a moment the flutter of wings was loud. Bats wheeled and dipped, performing their acrobatics. Byron moved with them, taking their shape to blend in, hunting for the cat. Knowing it was aware of him. Knowing it was hunting, too.

Marita's scream was cut off abruptly, forcing Byron to turn away from the search to ensure she was not being attacked. She lay crumpled on the ground. The leaves on the trees were smeared with a black, s.h.i.+ny substance. It dripped from the leaves to the ground just beside Marita's still body.

Byron dropped to earth, taking care to be light and airy, not wanting to leave prints behind. The torn, b.l.o.o.d.y body of a man hung in the fork of the tree branch much like cached meat. The moon revealed the trunk, black with blood. Marita lay at the bottom of the tree. Byron bent over her to check to see if she were injured. She appeared to be breathing without difficulty. The package had fallen from her limp hand, so he pushed it into his coat pocket without a single qualm.

The last thing he wanted to do was pack the woman down the mountain in the way of humans and waste time with hysterics.

Marita was capable of sending the entire palazzo and the nearby city into a full-blown panic. Byron examined the victim. He appeared to be in his late thirties. He had seen it coming, died hard, been torn open by a wild animal, and partially devoured. The death had been only an hour or so earlier. Marita had stepped in a puddle of blood, slipped, and fallen into another puddle.

Apparently, the fright had been too much for her.

The cat had been close, very close, and had sensed a predator coming near. It was gone, out of the area. He might have been able to track the jaguar, but he couldn't leave Marita to wake up in the midst of all the blood. With a little sigh he plucked her out of the mess and started down the mountain with her.

Almost at once Marita began to stir, moaning in fear and abject misery. Byron hastily put her on the ground, stepped back to give her room, and stood waiting. She thrashed for a moment, sat up straight, looked down at her bloodstained clothing, and screamed shrilly. Byron waited, but she didn't stop. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she began to slump again.

"Marita." He said her name sharply, burying a compulsion. "You are safe here with me. Nothing can harm you."

She blinked rapidly, her hands fluttering wildly. "Did you see it? The body? It was horrible." She shuddered. "Utterly horrible."

"Allow me to escort you home, and we can inform the authorities." He held out his hand to her to help her up.

Marita obeyed the compulsion in his voice, placing her hand in his.

"What are you doing up here, so far from the palazzo, so late at night?" His tone was beautiful, a pure cadence that soothed her into a trusting state.

She frowned, squirmed in resistance, yet couldn't prevent the admission. "I was meeting someone. A man."

"A lover?"

"Yes. No. Dio, you must not tell. You must not tell." She fell into a storm of weeping, her cries reaching to the heavens. She clutched at her heart, the tears making it impossible to see so that she sat down again and covered her face.

Exasperated, Byron blurred her mind and simply lifted her, moving through the air to cover the long distance to the palazzo.

He'd had enough of the screaming, weeping woman. He wanted Antonietta. To see her face, touch her, and know she was waiting for him, every bit as eager to see him as he was to see her.

Byron deliberately took Marita to the front entrance of the palazzo with its double doors and marbled stairway. So late at night, the doors were securely locked. He used the knocker ruthlessly. Holding her upright, he whispered the command to awaken her, making certain to plant the memory of a long, fast trek through the mountain path in her mind.

Helena opened the door. She took one look at Marita covered in blood and shrieked loudly. Two servant girls, gathering wraps for the evening to go home took up the cries until the palazzo was ringing all the way to the vaulted ceilings. Marita burst into tears again, wailing to the dead and everyone else in hearing distance. She clung to Byron like glue, holding him prisoner in the midst of drama.

Antonietta. Life mate. Rescue me. I cannot take these women and their histrionics another moment. Where are you?

She was as calm as ever. Where were you when I woke to find my bed empty?

Byron sighed. The household erupted into total pandemonium. Helena drew Marita into the entryway, speaking so rapidly he could barely understand her. For a brief moment he was free. Marita collapsed again on the floor. He did the gentlemanly thing and caught her before she hit her head on the cool marble. I could use a little sympathy.

What happened?

Marita found a dead body up in the grove.

A dead body? How awful. No wonder she's carrying on like that.

He had been dead for some time. It is not necessary for her to carry on. She did not see his throat ripped out.

His throat was ripped out? Poor Marita, no wonder she is so upset.

Upset is not the word I would have chosen. And what of me? I am a sensitive man, but you have no sympathy for my nerves when she is screaming so.

Sensitive? You with the dead body and no reaction?

Antonietta. A gentle reprimand when she was having so much fun at his expense.

Was it Enrico? He is still missing.

Byron paused before answering. Antoinette was beginning to sound horrified. He didn't need her joining the other women with their hysteria and shrieking cries.

I do not get hysterical. A heartbeat. Two. Ever.

She was closer. The entryway was crowded with women talking, crying, and screaming. Byron thought he might break into a sweat if he wasn't rescued soon. Marita leaned heavily against him, clinging with hands that were trembling. Antonietta, move it! I know you are coming as slowly as possible.

Franco rushed into the entryway, caught sight of his wife covered in blood and sagging against Byron's restraining hands as he held her up. Franco didn't even pause. He charged Byron, flailing at him with fists, nearly hitting Marita in the head when she bobbed in his way, trying frantically to grab him.

"Enough." Byron uttered the command between clenched teeth. His voice was ultralow, but the power and force of it swept through the room, could be felt all the way to the highest reaches. Vases rocked. Pictures on the wall shuddered and went still.

There was instant silence. No one moved or spoke. A wind swirled through the room, a rising howl of protest. Antonietta swept into the entryway, Celt close to her side. "Byron, do shut the door. The air's so cold, and poor Marita is in shock. Helena, quickly, see to it that Marita's bath is run. Franco, take her upstairs at once while I inform the authorities of the terrible tragedy in our grove."

The world narrowed and curved until his vision tunneled and the room was gone. The women disappeared. Franco was gone.

There was only Antonietta coming toward him. Byron couldn't help staring at her. Her voice had always carried confidence, but now her tone was even more compelling. She seemed to glow. His Carpathian blood in her body was already enhancing her natural beauty. She carried authority like a mantle, dignified and unafraid while chaos reigned around her. She left him soft inside.

Happy. At peace. Whole.

Her family responded to her voice. Marita collapsed in her husband's arms. Paul and Justine arrived together, breathless and wide-eyed. Tasha hovered near the archway, regarding Byron with suspicion.

"He saved me." Marita buried her face against Franco's chest. "I can't bear to have this man's blood on me. It was horrible."

Franco looked up at Byron. "Grazie. I owe you."

Byron walked straight, purposefully, to Antonietta. In front of her entire family he pulled her into his arms, held her close to him until their hearts picked up the same rhythm. There was pure possession in his posture, a clear signal to the others that he was with Antonietta to stay. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around him and turning her face up for his kiss.

He bent his head to hers. Her lips were warm and soft and welcoming. Her mouth was hot and moist and exotic. For a moment everything and everybody receded to a distant place. Antonietta tasted of honey and spice. Of love and laughter.

"Funny how he always shows up right when one of us is in danger," Tasha muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. She glared at Byron.

Byron lifted his head to look at her, his black eyes burning red, his fangs exposed when he smiled. He had enough of Cousin Tasha and her ugly games with Antonietta. If she wanted to play with no rules, he was more than willing. She often made Antonietta's life very uncomfortable. It wouldn't hurt the woman to have a taste of her own medicine.

Tasha gasped and stepped back, crossing herself. When she blinked, Byron's smile was normal, his face handsome. The red flames flickering in the depths of his eyes were merely a reflection of the many burning candles scattered around the entryway.

Tasha s.h.i.+vered, but she deliberately walked straight to her cousin's side, her huge, dark eyes angry. "How did you happen to come upon Marita and a dead body, Byron?" There was a challenge in her voice.

"Thank the good Dio you found her, Byron," Antonietta said. She touched Tasha briefly. "You must call the authorities at once. Say there has been a dreadful accident in the grove. Ask the good captain to come. Tell him our people are already used to his presence, and with everyone so nervous, I would appreciate it if he were to come personally." I sense her uneasiness. What are you doing to her?

What am I doing to her? She practically accused me of a.s.saulting Marita.

Antonietta made a small gesture of acceptance. That is just her way, to strike out when she is upset or afraid.

Byron set his teeth. Cousin Tasha needs manners.

Tasha nearly leapt for the phone, forgetting her determination to save Antonietta from her own folly in the hopes of seeing the handsome captain. "Of course, Antonietta."

"Paul, go to Nonno and let him know what is happening. I don't want him any more upset than necessary."

Franco led a sobbing Marita away, with Helena clucking soothing nonsense and promising a bath immediately.

That was it, Byron decided. Antonietta was blind, yet she knew who was in the room, and she took instant command. She was incredible. His heart was beating loud, and he calmed it. Pride for her. It both amused him and alarmed him that he could read her thoughts of confusion in her relations.h.i.+p with him. She believed they would have a short-term affair, he would go on his way, and she would continue her life. She was slowly coming to the realization that she didn't want him to go, but she still expected it.

Neither of them had a choice, but she had no way of knowing it, and he had no intention of compounding her resistance by enlightening her.

Antonietta moved closer to him, fitting her body into his, resting on his strength in the midst of the hysterics. She rubbed her face along his chest, went ramrod stiff, and stepped away from him. You've been with another woman. The accusation was a statement of fact, the words s.h.i.+mmering in his mind, orange red with flames. It was another betrayal, and it shattered her. He could feel the waves of anger mixed with a ferocious grief.

There will never be another woman. Never. Not for me. He used his purest tone, one unable to utter an untruth.

"Antonietta," Justine said. "We have to talk, all of us. Paul, you, even Byron and me. We can't let this continue."

Antonietta lifted her chin, her body slightly swaying toward Byron's as if for protection or comfort. The small, telltale gesture turned his insides to mush. Byron put his arm around her and gathered her beneath the protection of his broad shoulder, sheltering her from the pain of Justine and Paul's treachery. He could feel Antonietta wanting to believe him, struggling against the purity of his tone and her own senses.

"This is hardly the time for me to try to make sense of what you did, Justine. I am too angry and hurt to listen to either of you.

As for Paul shooting us, I still have no idea what to do. I suggest he stay out of the way of the authorities when they arrive." There was that faint haughty note in her voice that Byron was beginning to recognize as more of a defense than an offense.

I still can smell her on you.

He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. My sister has arrived from my homeland. She has taken a villa with her life mate and son near the city overlooking the sea. I believe we discussed Josef and his peculiarities. He wishes to paint, so they are allowing him the opportunity.

The suspicion in her mind cleared at once. Antonietta flung her arms around his neck. I'm sorry. I don't know why I doubted you.

Betrayal is a way of life in your family, Antonietta. It is not in mine. I say that only to rea.s.sure you. It is a natural conclusion when you wake alone, and I return with the scent of another woman on me.

Justine planted her body firmly in front of Antonietta even as Paul hurried off to his grandfather's room, carefully avoid- ing Byron's gaze. "Antonietta. I made a terrible mistake, but you can't just throw away thirteen years of friends.h.i.+p. You know you're my family. My only family. This is painful."

Byron's hand came up to ma.s.sage the sudden tension from the nape of Antonietta's neck. His fingers were gentle, his mind soothing so that she was able to keep from shaking with anger and hurt.

Antonietta was silent a moment. "I'm glad it's painful for you, Justine. It should be. It's painful for me to know you would betray everything we had simply because you're sleeping with my cousin. I can't imagine the man I am with asking me to do such a thing, and if he did, I can't imagine complying or staying with him. Paul uses people. He's very good at it, but then you knew that going into the affair."

Justine turned a dull red, her eyes avoiding Byron. Her lips quivered for a moment, but then her chin went up, and she turned abruptly on her heel and swept away. Byron watched her go, noted that her back was ramrod stiff and her hands were clenched into tight fists.

"What are you going to do about her?" Byron asked. His hand moved from her nape to the small of her back, continuing the soothing ma.s.sage."I have no idea. I should fire her, tell her to pack her bags and go, but I don't know if that's hurt talking or good business sense. Justine is just as ent.i.tled as everyone else to her mistakes."

Treachery. The word hissed through his mind, a clear, scorching burn that left black smoke and a bad taste behind. Byron liked none of it, but Antonietta's sense of loyalty and responsibility to her family and friends was enormous. He tried hard to understand why she loved them so much. Why it was so important to her to help them. He wanted to see the things in her family she saw. He wanted to care for them as she did. Don Giovanni had earned his respect and loyalty. He doubted the others ever could, but he was determined to give them every chance.

"I wish you could grow to love my family, Byron," Antonietta said.

He could share her mind and view them the way she did, but Byron wanted nothing to inhibit his senses when it came to her family. "We will work it out."

"Is your sister really here, Byron?" Antonietta didn't want to think about either Paul or Justine.

"Yes, she is really here. Do not sound so happy about it. She has brought young Josef, and that alone is enough to have us all running for cover. If you think you have strange relatives, you have not met Josef."

"They must come for dinner," she said. "Tomorrow night. You'll invite them, won't you?" She rubbed her face along his shoulder much like a cat. "That way I can meet the infamous Josef. I'm really looking forward to it."

He groaned deliberately to make her laugh. "You just want to make me squirm."

"Well, there's that, too."

"Do you think it will help Tasha to remember I was not found under a rock?" There was wealth of amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice.

She tipped her head back as if she could see him through her dark gla.s.ses. "You honestly don't care whether she likes you or not, do you?"

"Not particularly. I have never cared one way or the other. Does it change who or what I am? My honor demands a certain code of behavior. I cannot change it for someone else."

"Can you really read minds? Literally? I have ideas, like a thought or image in my head, and I know I'm picking it up from someone else, but I can't read minds," Antonietta admitted in a burst of confidence when she was normally very discreet about her unusual gifts.

He laced his fingers through hers and brought her hand up to his mouth, nibbling on her fingers. "Sit down with me a moment in the solarium. After all the screaming, I could use peace before the captain arrives."

She went with him, intrigued by the idea he might be able to read other minds. They were connected, she accepted that, but it seemed different that he might be able to hear the thoughts of others. "Is that what you do," she asked curiously, "do you hear their thoughts?"

"I have the ability to scan minds." He held the door courteously, eager to be alone with her. He needed to be alone with her.

"It is not so easy in this particular region or with your family as with most. You have built-in barriers, some more than others. I suspect it is due to your bloodlines. Mar-ita is easy enough. I picked up the image of a man. She was obviously on her way to meet him."

"That can't be," Antonietta denied again. "I'm telling you, Byron, she loves Franco, almost to the point of obsession. She would never do anything to lose him. She loves being a Scarletti almost as much as she adores Franco. She would never have an affair. Is that what you're implying? I will never believe it of her."

"And why is amour the only reason for a woman to meet a man clandestinely?"

Antonietta allowed him to seat her in the deep, comfortable chair facing the waterfall. She loved the chair not for its comfort but because she could feel the spray of droplets on her face. "You're right; of course it had nothing to do with an affair. It could have been any number of reasons."

"She was meeting a man, Antonietta, and she was going to deliver a package to him. For all I know, it was the gentleman found with his throat torn out."

Antonietta s.h.i.+vered. Byron sounded so matter-of-fact, even when discussing infidelity or brutal death. His fingers on her nape were soothing, gentle, tender even. "I highly doubt Marita was going to meet a man for any purpose. What package? You never said a word about a package." Celt pushed his nose into her palm, and Antonietta obediently scratched his silky ears.