"I had thought you would give Thierry Durand his own clutch," Lucan said, "now that he has found sanity."

"Thierry does not wish to serve as suzerain, and Phillipe refuses to abandon me." He smiled briefly at his seneschal. "I was hoping to rely on you for a recommendation. But then, you have your own distractions. Under those nondescript clothes, I would think Samantha Brown is quite attractive. She certainly reminds me of a woman who was once part of your entourage a long time ago."

"Indeed." Lucan's eyes turned to ice. "A pity that I have already claimed her for myself, seigneur. You remember the old traditions, I trust?"

Michael was appalled and fascinated. "Detective Brown is your kyrya?"

"She will be."

"Hello." Alex waved a hand between the two of them, breaking their eye contact. "Some of us here still don't speak much fang lang."

"A kyrya is a Kyn's human lover. We began taking them when we found we could no longer change humans to Darkyn.

Kyryas are usually immune to l'attrait. I cannot remember the last time a Kyn lord took one outside the ranks of the tresori. In these times, we trust only those sworn to serve us." Michael filed the information away and smiled at Alex. "There, cherie. You have just had a short history lesson on the Darkyn."

"Perhaps you could get to the reason for coming into my territory," Lucan said.

Michael told him about the situation with the Pavieres, and of Faryl's escape from New Orleans. "The family believes he comes to you for a merciful dispatching."

Lucan nodded. "Likely it is so. I have had no contact from Faryl, however. His brother is not with you tonight."

"Gard is out in the night, hunting him," Michael said. "Your seneschal was informed, and granted him safe passage."

"I am delighted my decisions are being made for me." Lucan gave Rafael a brief look before addressing Alexandra. "Why do you come here, Doctor? To keep your lord entertained, or do you wish to see a changeling put out of its misery?"

Alex looked bewildered. "A changeling?"

"I refer to Paviere's brother Faryl. His condition is irreversible." Lucan's mouth curved on one side. "I see. Our new seigneur hasn't told you all of it."

Michael stood. "We will take our leave now."

"Don't run away just yet." The big man also rose. "I'm so disappointed in you, Michael. You create the perfect mate for yourself, after centuries of the rest of us failing to do the same, and yet you are actively deceiving her. I wonder if we should consider a form of divorce for our kind. I think you may be in need of one soon, Alexandra."

She looked at him and then at Lucan and back to him. "Michael told me about Faryl feeding on animals, if that's what you're hinting. I get the whole fleshrot thing."

Lucan laughed. "Faryl, my dear doctor, is not rotting. He's molting."

"That's enough, Lucan." Michael helped Alexandra out of her chair. "We're leaving."

"You're leaving." She dragged her arm out of his grip. "I'm going to hear the rest of this. Lucan, what do you mean by molting?"

"Exactly that," he told her. "His body is changing from human into something else. It is a process that involves many such moltings until he attains his final form. Our high lord endures the same trials, as Michael will tell you."

He should have hunted him down and killed him in New Orleans. "Richard's condition is not the same as Faryl's, nor is it something we discuss."

"What is Faryl molting into?" Alex demanded.

"What he will become. You have heard the saying, 'You are what you eat'?" Lucan gestured to her. "You drink human blood, so you remain in human form. But if you drink animal blood, and you feed only on that long enough, you shed your humanity like the skin of a snake. You become whatever you feed upon."

Alex's eyes were huge. "You're telling me that Faryl is mutating into another animal species? Like an alligator or a rat or something?""A two-legged version of whatever he has been feeding on, yes. You might make yourself into a magnificent leopard woman.

You would only have to go to Africa and feed on them for a century or two." The suzerain reached out to touch one of the curls on her shoulder. "Then the process begins with-"

Michael threw his fist into Lucan's face, and with deep satisfaction felt it connect with the bigger man's jaw.

"Don't touch her," he snarled as the suzerain staggered back. "Don't ever touch her again."

All around them daggers and swords appeared as the men began taking defensive positions.

"Do you fear she will prefer mine to yours?" Lucan asked, his voice silky.

Michael took pleasure in striking back, this time with the truth. "At least my touch will not kill her."

Rafael and Phillipe took up their positions as second to their respective lords.

"Master, I think it would be wise to conclude this meeting now," Lucan's seneschal said. "Before any blood is spilled."

Phillipe put Alexandra behind him. "I agree, master."

"It appears that despite our best efforts, our people will not permit us our squabble," Lucan said. "If you require anything while you are in my territory, seigneur, you have but to contact Rafael."

Michael was so angry he could not manage even the thinnest of polite farewells, and turned to go.

"If you are in need, Alexandra," the suzerain called after them, "do come to me."

Sam was happy to get away from Lucan.

As she had left the club, she saw the prostitutes were finally earning their keep by mingling with a lot of tall, handsome men in beautiful suits and one short brunette woman wearing a gorgeous ivory silk dress. The odd thing was that while the hookers were drinking and chatting and laughing, the men were simply standing around in a loose circle around the woman and one tall man with white-streaked black hair in a ponytail.

Shrewd brown eyes met Sam's, and the woman smiled. Sam nodded before she stalked outside.

The unit wasn't in the alley behind the nightclub, and for a moment Sam felt like screaming. But Harry had been having a bad attack; maybe he'd gone over to Emergency. As Sam walked out of the alley and onto the street, she dialed her partner's cell phone and waited for him to answer.

"Hello?" a muffled male voice answered.

Sam knew it wasn't Harry. "I'm calling for Detective Quinn. Who is this?"

"He can't come to the phone right now. He's waiting for you in the park by the fire station."

"Who is this?" Sam demanded again.

The line clicked.

She tried dialing Harry's phone a second time, but got only his voice mail. The fire station was six blocks away. She began walking, and then fear set in, and she ran.The unit was parked under a cypress tree by the small pond in the center of the park. Sam felt relief flooding her as she saw Harry's silhouette through the driver's-side window. He had his window open, and a hand propped against his head.

He was taking a nap.

Christ, is he going to be mad when he finds out someone reached in and stole his mobile.

Sam still slammed the door out of principle as she climbed in behind the wheel. "Can't you wait for the deck chairs on the boat, old man?" Harry didn't answer her, so she reached over and shook his shoulder to wake him up. "Come on, wake up, wake-"

She pulled back a wet, red hand. "Oh, my God." She grabbed Harry's head and pushed it up. "Harry. Harry."

Blood from his slashed throat transferred from his jacket to her hands, and without thinking she picked up his hand to check for a pulse. Their palms brushed.

Cigarettes. Tiny red lights. Streetlights. Briny, humid air. Angry faces. Bored faces. The darkness of the alley. Harry's inhaler.

The smell of its medicated spray.

Sam was seeing his last moments-as they had happened. Harry hadn't been dead long, or they would have come to her backward. Maybe she still had time- A stray cat, carrying something in its mouth, darting out of the alley. Harry's watch. The door of the unit. The windshield. The glove box. A prescription bottle. Two tablets on Harry's broad palm.

"No," she heard herself saying.

A flash of silver from the rearview mirror. The blade slashing the air. The fist around the hilt. The bare arm.

Sam closed her eyes and screamed, but the images didn't stop.

The huge spray of blood. On the dashboard, on the windshield, everywhere. One bloody, trembling hand held up in the light.

Reaching for the tiny crystal dolphin, Sam's good-luck charm, hanging from the rearview. The hand falling. Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered. "I'm sorry."

A soft white glow. The smell of pine trees. Stars falling all around her. Rain made of light.

The roof of the unit. The alley below. The cooling towers, the rooftops. The block, the street, the city, all falling away. The lights of the living dwindling to tiny jewels on black velvet.

Above.

Sparkles of light, white and pure and untouchable. Stars swelling into suns. Stars melding with other stars. Stars exploding.

More light, growing, blazing, consuming everything that was and would be- Darkness.

The last thing Samantha remembered clearly doing that night was calling Dispatch on the radio to report her location and the fact that her partner had been murdered. After that, most of her brain seemed to simply shut down.She was aware of things, distant, unimportant things. Like the fact that the first people to arrive on the scene were fire rescue; they simply walked over from the station next to the park. She knew that one of them checked Harry for a pulse, while another talked to her through the window. There were questions asked that she didn't answer. She could hear them debating with each other on whether to move her or let her stay.

She stayed with Harry.

There were pretty colors on the dappled surface of the lake in front of her. Flashing blue, white, and red lights. More of them lit up the park as squad cars and an ambulance pulled in on either side of Sam's unit. More voices tried to talk to her, but she still saw no reason to speak. Her partner was dead, murdered, right there beside her. If they couldn't figure it out, then they shouldn't be carrying badges.

"Sammy, come on." Ortenza's voice, strained and pleading, penetrated the haze of pain and disbelief. "Snap out of it."

Peterson answered for her. "Leave her alone."

Wise, sensible Peterson. Sam wanted to thank him, but nothing would come out of her mouth. Then Garcia was there, not asking, not begging, not saying a word to her. It was his hands she allowed on her, his strength that guided her out of the car and put her into another one.

"No," he said to someone asking angry questions. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow."

The captain didn't question her, which was fine with Sam. He seemed to be reading her mind, though, for he pulled off the road twice so she could get out and vomit into the grass. Both times he knelt beside her, an arm around her shoulders, a hand holding her hair back.

Everything after that came in briefer flashes, blinks of reality.

Stairs. Blue hair, black leather, worried young eyes. Chris. Low voices, an exchange of keys. Doors opening, doors closing.

Taking off her jacket, pushing her onto her narrow bed.

She'll be all right. Sam's tougher than you think.

She wasn't this tough, Sam wanted to argue. This surely was going to kill her.

Chris's voice returned, soft and sweet as she read from one of Sam's books.

" 'Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.'"

Harry had wanted help from her, but Sam had been too busy playing with Lucan to be there for him. Now he was dead.

" 'Life has not forgotten you... it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall.'"

Chris kept reading. The words hung over Sam, mobiles of moving beauty, memories of another life's pain. No one should have to suffer such things as this.

Harry never would again. Harry, who had left her behind, was safe.

Sam started weeping. Not sobbing; her throat refused to let out a single sound. Tears streamed down her face until the low, sweet voice stopped and Chris was beside her, holding her in her arms and rubbing her back.

"Keep breathing. That's all you have to do now, Sam. Keep breathing."Lucan had to discover whether Richard had left Ireland and where in Florida he would be residing, as well as prepare for the coming battle with Cyprien. All of that went out of his head the moment Rafael told him that Harry Quinn had been robbed and murdered not a half dozen blocks from the club.

"Samantha?"

"She was found on the scene with him. She was in shock, so her superior took her home. A neighbor is with her now. My lord, about this situation with the seigneur-"

"Not now." Lucan scooped up the keys to his Ferrari and strode out of the club.

Once he was standing outside the door to Samantha's apartment, however, his determination deserted him. Lucan had seen Samantha and Quinn together. All of the reports indicated theirs had been a close and affectionate relationship. She would not stop until she brought the old man's killer to justice.

She would be in shock, horrified, suffering for the loss of a man she held in great affection. What could he do for her now?

Seduce her? Even he was not so callous as to take advantage of her grief.

She will wish to be alone. I would.

The door to the apartment abruptly opened, and a young woman with the most astonishing head of blue hair stared out at him.

"I thought I heard someone out here." Her eyes widened. "I know you; you're-"

"Samantha's friend," Lucan said, taking a step closer so that the space between them filled with the scent of jasmine. "I've come to see her."