"Do you remember that Andalusian of Seran's you coveted?" his seneschal asked. "The one with the quick temper?"

The comparison made Michael laugh. "Only you could compare a woman to a horse, my friend." The image helped, however. That mare had been a b.i.t.c.h, but she had had the silkiest, darkest chestnut hide he had ever seen. A surprisingly apt a.n.a.logy for the doctor. "Do you think she has the same fire when the sunlight touches her?"

"More. Like copper when it melts in the furnace." Phillipe's tone underwent a subtle change. "When it is done, Master, you will let her go?"

"Perhaps." As much as Michael despised his current state, he could not jeopardize the Darkyn to allow one human female her freedom.

"She worries about the patients she left behind." Phillipe sounded aggrieved.

Was his seneschal becoming attached to the bad-tempered wench? "There are others who can help them."

"She feels responsible. They are like her family, I think."

Tremayne would not care about Alexandra Keller's feelings. If Michael was to be the first designated seigneur in America, neither should he. "The doctor has skills that we need."

"She is kind, and courageous." Shuffling footsteps drew near. "Ah, the delivery has arrived." Phillipe moved away from him and toward the sound. Michael already tasted the new scent on the air. It was not of spices. It made his head pound and his hands clench.

It reminded him of who he was, and what he was about to become.

"This doctor, she is not like eliane, Master. She has a normal life and a calling to heal." Metal clinked against good crystal, and as the shuffling footsteps retreated, Phillipe placed a goblet in his hands. "I think she will not willingly serve."

"There are ways to persuade her." He lifted the goblet and drank deeply from it. Heat and pleasure radiated inside him, and it took a moment before he could speak again. "You can do much in that direction."

"Not for long," Phillipe reminded him. "Without rapture, she will not help you, and you could never trust her even if she did. Like your tresora, she will never be one of us."

No, Michael knew that he couldn't trust her. The old rage welled up inside him.

"What is the alternative? Shall I pet.i.tion the Brethren? Beg them to declare a moratorium?" He threw the goblet away from him and took pleasure in hearing it shatter. "I will explain that it is for the benefit of our doctor and her normal life. That should make them agreeable, don't you think?"

"Forgive me, Master." There was the sound of fabric against marble; Phillipe had gone down on his knees. "I spoke out of turn."

"You speak as always. As my conscience." He fumbled until he found his seneschal's jacket and used it to bring Phillipe to his feet. "I cannot have a conscience now, my friend. Not until we are safe. Do you understand me?"

"Oui, maitre."

"Go." Michael released him. "See to her."

Phillipe had escorted Alex back to the dining room and left her there. After checking the doors and windows, which were locked, she picked at a plate of designer food. eliane reappeared and asked for a list of equipment and supplies.

Feeling as angry as she had felt with Michael Cyprien, Alex gave her a list of enough equipment to stock a trauma clinic. The blonde wrote everything down before she escorted Alex upstairs.

"You don't have to lock me in," she told eliane as the other woman produced a set of keys. "I won't run."

She pushed open the door. "You soon will have a great deal of work to do. You should sleep while you can."

Alex could have knocked her out with one good punch to the face, but what she had seen down in the bas.e.m.e.nt stayed her hand. Whatever condition Cyprien had, it needed to be studied, attended. She also wanted to know, purely from a medical standpoint, what sort of injuries he had suffered.

All right, Alex thought, I want to help the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Then she'd have him thrown in jail.

"Being an accessory to a kidnapping gets you h.e.l.lacious jail time, you know," she mentioned to the blonde.

"You won't go to the police."

Oh, wouldn't she? The minute she got out of this place. "You seem awfully sure of that."

The thin lips produced a prim smile. "If you attempt to do so, Phillipe or I will slit your throat before you can testify. Bonne nuit, docteur." She shoved Alex into the room and locked the door.

Alex slept very little that night, but not because of what eliane had promised to do. Being kidnapped sucked, and the death threats were scary, but the medical puzzle Cyprien presented fascinated and baffled her.

How can I reconstruct a face that heals as soon as I cut into it?

Alex had heard of a few, rare cases of spontaneous healing, usually involving religious healings, but most were later debunked as fakes. Then there was the question of her involvement. Cyprien had already gone as far as kidnapping to get her here. What would he do if she failed?

Phillipe or I will slit your throat.

Alex was kept locked in the bedroom for a second day. She paced, she brooded, and then she forced herself to take a long hot shower. Phillipe silently delivered her breakfast and lunch, gently prevented her from escaping two more times, and then escorted her downstairs for dinner again. This time, there were two place settings, and Cyprien sat waiting for her. He wore a red velvet robe with a hood over his face. "Good evening, Dr. Keller. I hope you are well."

"I'd be better on a plane headed for O'Hare." Alex ignored the faint, sweet smell of roses coming from him-wearing that kind of cologne, the guy had to be gay-and yanked out her chair before Phillipe could. His impa.s.sive expression didn't change as he went to stand by the wall behind her. "I should mention that if I spend one more minute locked up in that d.a.m.n room, I'll turn psychotic." She eyed Phillipe. "P.S., you're the first one I'm stabbing in the heart."

One corner of Phillipe's mouth curled.

"I regret your stay with us could not be under better circ.u.mstances," Cyprien said. "In the meantime, please try not to kill any of my staff."

"Quit hiding your face. I've already seen it; I'm not going to faint." She sat down. Her plate was filled with shredded lettuce topped with shrimp in a spicy-looking sauce. Cyprien's plate was empty. "Aren't you hungry?"

"I cannot see to dine 'normally' "-he pulled back the hood and gestured toward the scar tissue over his eyes-"and my dietary requirements are complicated. I am here solely as your companion tonight."

"Really." Alex still didn't trust him or his fancy French food. She ignored the crystal flute Phillipe filled with something golden and bubbly poured from a dark wine bottle and instead drank from the water gla.s.s. "What sort of diet? Atkins? South Beach?"

"An unvarying one." He looked as if he would say more, and then his head turned away. "The first course is shrimp remoulade, I believe."

She jabbed her fork into a plump, pink shrimp and took a test nibble, startled when the spicy sauce bit back. "Oh, hot."

As she sucked in air to cool the burn, the savory taste spread over her tongue. "But, wow, great."

"Save room for dessert," Cyprien advised her.

The meal was beyond delicious. Phillipe served each course in silence while Cyprien pointed out some of the differences between French and Creole cuisine. Alex noticed that he paused at times and seemed to be listening to her eat. She stayed quiet until Phillipe placed a hefty slice of a familiar dessert on her plate and poured a b.u.t.tery sauce over it.

"Hey, I haven't had bread pudding since I was a kid." She took a bite and nearly moaned. "OmiG.o.d." Phillipe stepped forward and tried to take her plate, and she slapped the back of his knuckles. "Back off, Goliath."

Phillipe glowered at her and tried to take the dessert again, until Cyprien raised a hand.

"C'est delicieux." To Alex, Cyprien said, "He thought perhaps you did not like it."

She curled a hand around the plate and gave the seneschal a direct look. "Mine."

Phillipe stepped back to his place by the wall and tried not to look pleased.

"What made you decide to specialize in reconstructive surgery?" Cyprien asked.

She shrugged before she remembered that the gesture was wasted on him. "Good money."

The scar tissue across his forehead shifted. "With the number of charity cases you treat, I doubt that."

Cyprien wasn't making polite chitchat now; he really wanted to know. In a way, that curiosity was more invasive than his kidnapping her-which reminded her, she was the man's prisoner-and that spoiled everything. She pushed away the remainder of the bread pudding. "All you want is my speed, not my life story."

The misshapen head inclined her way. "I would still like to know why you became what you are."

She sipped some water. "We had a gardener, this old Polish guy named Stash. He was strong as a bull but a wizard with flowers, and he could grow anything."

"He was kind to you?"

"Not particularly. He grumbled whenever I played in the garden and told me not to touch anything." She wanted the wine now, wanted the warmth to thaw the ice inside her, but she wouldn't let herself drink it. Not here, not with him. "Stash had a big red nose with a sore on it that wouldn't heal. By the time he saw a doctor, it was too late. It was melanoma-skin cancer-and it was bad. His nose had to be amputated."

Cyprien made no cra.s.s comment, or any sound at all. He simply sat and listened. "Stash came back to work with a big bandage over his face. Then he had to wear a prosthetic nose." She remembered how it had looked on his weather-beaten face, and the red, angry flesh around it. "Kids aren't very nice to old men, and some of our neighbors' brats came to the fence and called Stash names, like he was a monster."

"Did you do the same?"

"Nope. Once I saw him take off the fake nose to wipe some sweat away. I told him he just looked like a jack-o'- lantern, and he should take off his nose and scare away those nasty kids. I was six, I believe." She smiled a little, remembering. "After that, he'd take his nose off around me. Stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. I didn't know at the time, but his face never really healed, and it hurt him to wear it. Most people can't stand to look at someone who doesn't have a nose, though. It's considered one of the worst disfigurements you can have."

"Is it?" Cyprien touched a ma.s.s of scar tissue on his face where his nose should have been. "What happened to this gardener?"

"He died a year after the surgery. They didn't get all the cancer, and it went up into his brain. That's when I decided to be a surgeon."

"For which I must be grateful," Cyprien said, his voice strained.

She stared across the table at him. For a moment, she saw the old gardener's flat, sad face superimposed over Cyprien's. I will not give myself Stockholm syndrome. "That's the reason. Satisfied now?"

He nodded. "Cafe au lait, Phillipe."

Alex felt like an idiot as she drank the cup of strong chicory coffee Phillipe brought her. Cyprien was a man who could heal in minutes. If there was some way to nail down and duplicate what his body did naturally, it would make a tremendous difference to patients like Luisa Lopez. It would, in fact, change modern medicine. Plus the man was holding her captive. She couldn't afford to be hostile toward him.

"That was the best meal I've had since... I can't remember." Being gracious was awkward; she was out of practice.

Hostile was so much easier. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome, Doctor."

"I have some questions," she went on, probing cautiously. "Have you been able to spontaneously heal your entire life?"

He shook his head. "I acquired the ability as a young man."

Adolescence triggered some genetic factors. "Does it run in your family? Either of your parents have the same ability? Your grandparents, aunts, uncles?"

"No." He lifted his winegla.s.s to his mouth.

"It still could be genetic." She put down her coffee cup. To isolate a gene for spontaneous healing would be the medical equivalent of finding a pink diamond mine. The applications were endless, but she didn't think of anonymous research. She thought of Luisa. "Mr. Cyprien, if I restore your features, will you allow me to run some tests? All I need-"

"No."

Patiently Alex began to explain what could be learned from studying him, until he held up one of his hands.

"Dr. Keller, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but my ability does not come without a heavy price." He placed his hand over hers. The bones and muscles felt heavy, the skin cool to the touch. "Imagine a war fought by soldiers whose injuries heal as quickly as mine. No conventional army could stand against them."

The bread pudding, which had tasted so divine, abruptly formed a solid lump in her stomach. "I see your point."

"I am glad." Cyprien merely finished his wine and rose. "If you're finished, perhaps we can adjourn to my chambers? You can inspect your equipment."

Alex blinked. "What equipment?"

"eliane obtained what you requested." He walked over and offered her an arm, and she realized he was a lot taller than she'd thought. "Come, I'll show you."

Chapter Five.

Ten minutes later Alex sat down on the edge of the surgical table. All around her, diagnostic equipment hummed and gla.s.s-paneled cabinets showed off shelves stocked with every conceivable instrument and medical supply. She stared at the portable lab and X-ray machine, their related processors, and the latest in alloplastic and autogenous grafting materials in refrigerated cases.

She stared up at Cyprien. "This isn't equipment. This is a whole freaking field hospital."

He sat beside her and turned as if watching her face. "It is what you will need, is it not?"

"Uh, yeah. I could treat a hundred patients here." She pushed herself off the table and tapped the surface. "You'll be first."

Alex took blood and tissue samples, using syringes that appeared to be made from the same bronze metal as the knife. "Why aren't these needles stainless steel?"

"Copper is the only metal that can penetrate my skin."

"Get out of here." She removed the needle from his arm and watched the tiny hole it had left disappear. "What moron told you that?"

He sighed. "Think of it as a severe allergy."

To keep from snickering, Alex rolled over the portable X-ray and took a full head series. Luckily she still remembered how to develop the plates from her intern days. Once the films were developed, she placed them on a light table and studied the results.

The results were unspeakable.

Cyprien got off the exam table and joined her. "What is it?"

"This could be your skull. I think." She pointed to the jagged contours of his distorted bones, and then remembered he couldn't see. "Sorry. It looks like someone put a puzzle together with all the pieces jammed in the wrong places."

She glanced up at him. "How are you able to walk around like this without b.u.mping into things?"