Jayr's voice stirred his hair as she repeated her oath of loyalty to him. "I willingly undergo everything for you, my lord, and will serve as your seneschal for all the days of my life."

Byrne took his mouth from her palm but didn't utter the usual reply or offer her his wrist. He didn't want it to end so quickly this time. This might well be their last exchange.

Until he left, she was his.

Jayr stared up at him. Expanding rings of violet lightened the sienna of her eyes, and the set of her mouth told him that her fangs had extended fully. Before he could see shame in her face, before he could think, he picked her up and set her on his thigh. Jayr sat rigid in the circle of his arm. "My lord?"

"Stay." Byrne tore at the leather lacing below his collar, opening it. When she didn't accept his offering, he cupped the back of her head with his hand and brought her face to his throat. Her full lips pressed against his flesh, but she still did not use her teeth on him. "Open your mouth."

The soft heat of her breath scalded him as she obeyed, and as soon as he felt the sharp tips of her fangs he pressed her face against him, forcing her to bite into his throat.

"I accept you as my seneschal," he muttered as he held her there, his blood flowing into her mouth, "and give you service, honor, and the protection of my house."

Jayr made a low sound that moved over his skin before she reluctantly sucked at the wounds. The light, exquisite pressure of her feeding inched down his chest and belly, teasing and tightening everything in its path. In that moment, Byrne would have given her every drop of blood in his cursed veins, if only to hold her a little longer.

Fingertips touched his chest; a square palm settled against it. Her scent sharpened and darkened, dragging at him. His chest burned as he fought a swelling, roiling compulsion to claw away her garments and fill his hands with her flesh. As she lifted her mouth from the bite wounds they healed over, and his arms, dull and heavy, dropped away from her.

Jayr eased onto her feet and picked up his boots, carrying them over to the foot of his bed. She remained there, her back to him as she turned down the coverlet and linens.

"Lord Locksley mentioned something about not competing in the archery contest this year." How normal she sounded. "So that others might have a chance at the prize."

"'Tis the only way they will." He saw her rearranging his pillows for his comfort and knew her touch would leave behind the scent of tansy. It had become the only thing that would lull him into the curious sleep of their kind. When she passed within his reach on her way to the woodbox, he almost pulled her back to him. His self-control would not last another minute. "Never mind the fire; I'm warm enough. Go to bed now, lass."

Without him. Alone. Where he should have sent her hours ago.

She started for the door, but halted and regarded him in an uncertain manner. "Forgive me, my lord, but is there something amiss?"

"Here?" Everything. Did she feel nothing when he touched her? "No."

"I meant, has something been troubling you? You seem so"-she searched for the words-"preoccupied of late."

"We have one final performance to give to the humans before several hundred Kyn descend on our household," he reminded her. "Some will be these newcomers from France and Italy. They willnae know how we do things here."

"I will speak to their men." Jayr extinguished the sheep's-tallow candles that she imported from Scotland because Byrne favored their scent. "Good night, my lord."

"'Wait." Byrne found that he could not let her go; he was on his feet and catching her shoulder to stop her. "You spoke the truth when you said you were not injured by the human's bullet?"

Jayr reached up and tugged aside the wide collar of her shirt, revealing a slim, unmarked shoulder. "I made a foolish mistake, but I would not lie about such a thing."

As the scent of tansy and heather entwined around them, Byrne stared down at her exposed flesh. His most accomplished fighter, the only Kyn he trusted completely at his back, and all he could think was how like new milk her skin was.How many times had he wished he could lay his cheek upon that shoulder and feel the smooth touch of her skin against the roughness of his? But there, against the whiteness, two thin, crooked scars gleamed. Unlike the scratches he had inflicted on her palm, the silvery marks were the last wounds Jayr had suffered during her human life. Twin reminders of that which immortality would never heal.

That which he had done to her. The life that he had stolen from her.

"I know you would not." Gently he pulled her shirt back into place. "G'night, lass."

"Sleep well, my lord." She gave him her customary bow before slipping out of the room.

Byrne lifted the hand he had used to straighten her shirt. Three of his fingers burned in the places where they had skimmed over scars. Scars that he had given to her when she had found him in the pit trap at Bannockburn. Scars from the dents acerees he had buried in her mortal flesh, tearing at it in his eagerness for her blood.

Damn his soul to hell, but he could still feel the press of her hand on the back of his head, urging him closer instead of pushing him away. She had not been bespelled; his scent had been drowned by the mud of the pit. It had been the sweet warmth of her human blood that had thrown them into the death dream. There his memories ended.

Just as her life had.

To this day, Byrne did not understand why she had done it. Before they had come together at the battlefield, they had never laid eyes on each other. She had worn the garb of a peasant, and had spoken in the tongue of his enemy. Nevertheless, six hundred years ago Jayr had given her human life so that he might live to fight the English. And how had he repaid her? By making her a cursed creature, damned to walk the night forever at his side.

The time it should have ended was long past. He had to do this thing for both of them. His actions tonight made that plain.

Someday she would understand why he did it.

Someday, perhaps, she would forgive him.

Michael Cyprien propped his back against a pile of silk-covered pillows and looked down at the naked woman sprawled across his legs.

"You have very good-looking kneecaps," Dr. Alexandra Keller said, tracing the lines of the bones beneath his skin. "Strong, nicely shaped, not too prominent. Pretty elegant for a set of load-bearing joints, pal."

"I could say the same about your feet." He slid his thumb from her heel to the curl of the back of her toes. "Although I believe they are more cute than elegant."

"In France, maybe." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Do you know that in China I'd be like a supermodel from the ankles down?"

Alexandra's long mane of fiery chestnut curls framed a striking face as stirring to him as the first time he had beheld it. Then she had possessed the gentle, fathomless eyes of a Botticelli Madonna. He had destroyed much of that innocence by inadvertently ending her human life and making her his immortal companion, but now he saw even newer shadows masking the old.

Michael suspected she still dwelled on being abducted by Richard Tremayne, the Darkyn high lord, and what he had subjected her to while holding her captive at his castle in Ireland. It had been a nightmare for him as well.

Distract her from her thoughts."I thought you and I might attend Byrne's winter tournament," Michael said carefully.

She considered it. "Byrne was the big redhead with the Braveheart tattoos, right? His seneschal looked like he'd never started shaving."

"Byrne's seneschal, Jayr, is a female," he corrected.

"She's a chick? You're kidding." She laughed. "Isn't that against the rules?"

"Jayr is the only female seneschal among the Kyn," Michael admitted. "Little is known or said about her."

Alexandra tucked a pillow under her head. "All because she's a girl, or because she works for Byrne?"

"Her origins are mysterious-there were no female Templars," he reminded her. "I know that Byrne changed her and took her into his service after she saved his life during the battle of Bannockburn."

She gave him an ironic look. "Gee, that sounds so familiar."

"I did not make you my servant," he said, holding up his hand. "You made me yours."

"Yeah, right." She chuffed out some air. "So, how old was the kid when Byrne stuck her with fangs?"

"I cannot say. Obviously rather young."

"Huh." She sat up suddenly. "Hang on. Are there little-kid vampires running around out there?"

He shook his head. "Adolescents, yes, but no child under the age of fourteen has ever risen to walk the night."

She didn't appear convinced. "You're sure about that? In her first book, Anne Rice had this little girl-"

"Anne who?"

"The author I like who writes about vampires," she said. "Or, to be more accurate, she did. Now she's big into the boy Jesus."

"We are not vampires," he told her firmly. "We are vrykolakas. And to my knowledge, Jamys and Jayr are the youngest who rose to walk the night."

"I love how you say that," she told him conversationally. "You make getting infected with a gene-altering, plague-born pathogen sound like the kissy parts in Phantom of the Opera?"

He arched his brows. "There were kissy parts?"

"I don't remember. I might, if someone hadn't started nibbling on my ear two minutes after I popped in the DVD." She hit him on the arm with the pillow. "So was the transition different for the kids?"

"Neither was considered a child during their human lives," he advised her. "Adulthood in our time began at age twelve."

"You were letting sixth-graders run the world? No wonder it was so screwed up." She nibbled absently at the side of her thumbnail, "It would be pretty interesting to have a look at Jayr's blood, see how it measures up against Jamys's and the adult Kyn samples I've collected."

"Why would her blood be different?"

"She might not have made it through puberty before the change," Alexandra said. "Presenting age has a lot to do with how a disease progresses, and how effective treatment can be. We can now cure eighty-five percent of kids who develop certain types of leukemia, for example, because they're at the developmental stage of life optimum for aggressive treatment of the cancer. Children and adolescents adapt to disease differently than adults do, too. All that means is that I may find something in Jayr's blood that wouldn't be present in yours or mine. Think she'd give me a couple of vials?"

An invisible weight lifted from his shoulders. "You will go to the tournament with me?"

"Sure. It's not like I've suddenly developed agoraphobia." Alexandra traced two fingertips from the inside of his knee to the midpoint of his thigh. "I'm fine. Quit worrying."

"I have you naked, in my bed, with your feet in my hands." He smiled. "There is no male in the world less worried."

"For a vampire, you're a terrible liar." Alexandra kissed his right knee before resting her cheek against it. "I'll let you get dressed and go make arrangements for the trip. You don't have to nibble on my neck and ravish my body forever."

The self-contempt in her voice did not match the strange, stricken set of her features. Michael sensed something beneath the fear-something Alexandra had been keeping from him since he had brought her back from Ireland.

He knew she would not confide in him until she was ready, but he might coax her into it. "Phillipe will make the arrangements.

As for me, I can ravish your neck and nibble on your body. Or we can be boring and simply talk."

"You're so easy. I think that's why I fell in love with you." She sighed. "But if I don't let you out of here soon, Phillipe is going to raise the jardin and send them in to haul me off you."

"Not if Phillipe values the jardin." He rubbed a hand against the back of her head. "Do not concern yourself, cherie. You and I have earned this respite. We will take all the time that we need for ourselves."

"You're fine. I'm the one who's screwed up." She wound her arms around his legs. "I don't know what it is, but every time I think about you leaving me alone, I start having a panic attack. It's almost worse than how I felt when I was locked up in Richard's dungeon."

Was this what disturbed her?

"We were kept apart for too long," he told her. "It damaged the bond between us. It needs time to strengthen and heal."

"So I'm still working out my separation anxiety issues? Baby, we both know I can't keep-" The phone rang, interrupting her.

Michael grabbed the receiver and brought it to his ear. "Is the mansion on fire?"

"No, master," Phillipe said. "Forgive the disturbance, but it is Suzerain Byrne. He insists on speaking with you. He says the matter cannot wait."

"Put him through." Michael watched his sygkenis bend down to nip the inside of his thigh before rolling away onto her back. He put his hand over the receiver. "It is Byrne. This will take but a moment, cherie."

"It's okay." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Take your time."

He caught her hand with his. "We need not go to Florida. I would be very happy to spend eternity here in bed with you."

"Right." The line of her mouth flattened. "Let's hope you don't have to."

As his seneschal transferred the call, Michael watched his lover enter the adjoining bath. Thanks to Alexandra's Kyn blood, her back had healed without scarring, but he imagined he could still see the ghostly remnants of those terrible claw wounds. She had blamed them on an unprovoked attack by Richard, who had been driven to the brink of madness by a massive dose of animal blood.

Michael believed it to be the truth-Alexandra had no reason to lie to him about anything that her captor had done-but when she had told him about Richard's assault, she had sounded almost apologetic. For some reason unknown to him, the incident had left her feeling guilty and frightened.

Had Richard done more than maul her?

"Seigneur." Byrne's voice came over the line, distracting him. "Your man said you were not to be pestered, but this cannae wait." He stopped and then added gruffly, "You and your sygkenis are well?"

"We are." He heard water running and breathed in the heady lavender scent from his lover's body, now blending with the herbal bath salts she favored. "I had intended to call you tomorrow. Alexandra and I will be attending your tournament this year."

"We are honored."

"Alexandra should meet more of our kind," Michael said. "My motive is more personal; I will be selecting and reviewing candidates for suzerain. I have named two new jardin to accommodate the refugees crossing over from France and Italy, but neither group has clear leadership among them. Now, what has you calling me in the middle of the morning?"

"I meant to invite you and your sygkenis to the tournament so that you might choose my successor," Byrne said. "I'll not be suzerain past Christmas."

"Indeed." Michael sat up and reached for his trousers. "Am I to know the reason for this sudden abdication?"

"I'm weary, lad." Byrne exhaled heavily. "I've been suzerain of the Realm for better than two centuries, and I've no stomach for it anymore. It's past time I stepped down."

The prospect of losing one of his best lords did not concern Michael as much as the defeat in his friend's tone. "If you need time away, I will appoint someone to temporarily serve in your place."

"It cannae work, seigneur."

"You may change your mind-"

"Will you bloody listen to me, Michael?" Byrne demanded. "You know what I can do. You've seen it yourself. Six hundred years and better I've controlled it. But tonight I nearly let loose on four bairns, Jayr, and Rob. I'm done."

"Very well." Michael cradled the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he stepped into his pants. "I reserve the right, however, to use whatever means I have to persuade you to remain as lord of the Realm."

"You can try." Byrne uttered a bark of something that distantly resembled a laugh. "I've no said a word to the lads, and I'd be obliged if you'd keep this between us until you've made your choice."

Michael debated on whether or not to demand more explanation from the man. He valued Byrne as one of the American lords that he could count on implicitly to follow his orders without question. At the same time, he understood the fine line Byrne had walked since becoming Kyn. As a human, he had been a man feared and dreaded by anyone who had encountered him on the battlefield. Even after he had been cursed, his capacity for violence had served the Kyn well.

Those days were no more. Were Byrne to lose control of himself now, in a place crowded with people, as the Realm often was...

"Very well, mon ami!"After they exchanged farewells, Michael heard water spilling, and got out of bed to go into the bath. The oval tub, its waters fragrant with eucalyptus and mint, sat overflowing onto the floor. Alexandra stood naked before the foggy wall mirror, staring blankly at the blurred reflection of her golden-skinned body.