Hunger burned inside his belly, clawing at his mind to the point that little other thought was possible. The unwanted distraction Madoc had caused tonight had been nearly more than he could tolerate.

He was allowed to feed only once a month, and Connal had no question that Zillah would withhold the woman's blood if he did anything to displease the Synestryn lord.

"Where's Zillah?" he asked the guard.

The thing's neck twisted around one hundred eighty degrees and hissed in the direction of the woman. Clearly, speech was beyond its capability.

Connal let out a relieved sigh. At least he wouldn't be asked to do any favors for the b.a.s.t.a.r.d tonight. Normally, his food didn't come free, and as hungry as Connal was, he was beginning to fear these meetings almost enough to refuse to show. Almost.

As he neared the woman, she cringed away from him, pressing herself back against the wall. She'd been bathed since he'd last fed from her, and he could tell now that her hair was light brown, no longer matted and filthy. Her hazel eyes were just as dead and unresponsive as they had been every other time he'd fed from her.

A pang of sympathy squeezed Connal's heart, but there was nothing he could do for her. Even if he had wanted to set her free, the blood of the Synestryn child she'd once carrieda"blood he'd consumed when feeding from her last summera"now prevented him from acting against Zillah in any way. He was as much of a slave to Zillah's whims as she was.

At some point over the fall, she'd lost the child. Connal almost asked her what had happened, but thought better of it. She was for food, not conversation.

He gripped her hair and pulled her head back. Her long hair fell back over her shoulder. Only then did he see the note that had been pinned to her shirt.

So much for avoiding Zillah's whims.

Connal ripped the note away to read later and sank his teeth into the woman's neck. A pitiful whimper rose up from her, but he ignored it. The taste of her blood flowing over his tongue was too heady and consuming. All other thoughts vanished as her power filled him up and made him whole.

Strength and warmth flooded his limbs as he continued to drink from her.

He felt her pulse weaken, but didn't care.

"Please," she whispered, speaking to him for the first time. "Kill me."

Shock rocked Connal as he realized he was doing just that. Before it was too late, he willed her flesh closed and ripped his mouth away from her neck.

His hands still held her head still, but her eyes shifted, looking up at him. Tears shimmered there, and the raw look of pleading in her eyes was enough to rip a cry of denial from Connal's chest.

"Please," she said, her voice strained, as if it had been a long time since she'd used it. "I want to die."

Connal let go of her and stumbled back. He knew what Zillah would do to him if he killed her. He'd suffer for a long time before he found any peace in death.

"I can't. I won't," he told her.

She swallowed and suddenly that frozen, dead look came back into her eyes, as if she'd gone somewhere else.

Zillah's note was still crumpled in his fist. He smoothed it flat and read the scrawling text. "Activate Ricky," was all it said, but that was enough. Connal knew what Zillah meant for him to do.

A boy of seventeen was probably going to die because of Connal, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Everything had gone so wrong. What had started out as a way to ease his hunger had turned into something far worse than he could have ever imagined. He was Zillah's puppet. His tool. Not only was he aiding the enemy; he was doing something he never would have thought possible.

He was harming innocents.

Connal looked at the woman in front of him. She was dangling by her wrists, not even bothering to support her own weight. Life for her was a series of horrible nightmares. She couldn't even find peace in deatha"the Synestryn wouldn't allow that. They would keep her alive for her body, her blood, and the power it held over him for as long as possible.

Unless he did something. But what? He knew better than to think he'd refuse to feed from her again. He knew without a doubt he would. The hunger was too strong to resista"the power of her blood too intoxicating.

The only way he'd stop feeding from her was if she was no longer available. Unless she died or escaped, her hold over him would remain.

A hissing warning came from behind him. The guards were getting agitated.

He spun around and imbued his words with a portion of the power he'd taken from her. "I'm not finished."

The guard cowered, bobbing its head in a sinuous motion.

He couldn't act directly, but maybe he could give the woman the information she needed to help herself. It was worth a try.

He gathered her body up in his arms, bending his head over her as if feeding from her again. He could smell her fear, and for the first time, it sickened him.

"Listen to me," he told her. "Your blood is the key to your escape. Do you hear me?"

The woman remained limp and listless in his arms. He gave her a shake, making her head loll back on her neck. Her blank eyes stared up at him.

He tried to use some of the power he'd gained from her to force her back to reality, but when he reached for it, he hit a wall. Apparently, touching her mind to tell her how to escape was one of the boundaries he could not cross.

"You need to remember what I'm saying, woman. My people can track your blood. They're not all like me. Some of them are . . . good."

The fact that he wasn't one of the good ones was hard to admit, even to himself, but he knew the ring of truth when he heard it.

"One of them may find you," he whispered. "Save you."

And then one of the guards slammed a thick arm into him, knocking him away.

Connal hit the wall and pushed himself back up to his feet. He lifted his hands and said to the guard, "I'm done now. I'll leave."

The guard's head bobbed in acknowledgment, but its claws were bare, ready to rip into Connal if he made a wrong move.

With one last look at the woman dangling from the pipe, he turned and left. There had not been a single sign of recognition in her eyes. They were as dead as the corpses lying across the room.

Grace held her tears back until she was safely outside Torr's suite.

He was getting worse. The paralysis had crept up his body until it was becoming hard for him to hold his own head up. He'd tried to cover his weakness in front of her, but she knew.

Torr was dying.

Grace wanted to do something, but she was powerless to help. Useless. All she could do now was watch him die and give him as much dignity as possible.

Maybe the most compa.s.sionate thing she could do was kill him as he'd begged her to do so many times. She could make his death easy. Painless.

The Sentinels would hate her. They'd most likely banish her from Dabyr, but she'd accept that. Even if they executed her, she was willing to let it happen.

Torr had saved her life as well as her brother's. She owed him her life in return.

Grace slipped inside the suite she shared with her younger brother, letting the tears take her. The first sob had gripped her body when she noticed she was not alone.

Gilda, the Gray Lady, the most powerful female Theronai in the compound, sat on Grace's couch. Her long black hair lay perfect and shining against the gray silk of her gown. Every breath she took made the light play over her, caressing her as if it couldn't get close enough.

As always, when Grace saw her, she stopped dead in her tracks, staring, letting the woman's beauty and power sink into her.

Grace wiped her tearstained face and regained as much composure as she could. She knew her eyes were red and her nose was running, but there wasn't much she could do to help that.

She bowed her head, hoping to hide her messy state as well as pay respect to the powerful woman sitting on her couch.

"I've been waiting for you," said Gilda.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you wanted to see me. If you'd called for mea""

Gilda raised a dainty, elegant hand. "I didn't want anyone to know I spoke to you. What I have to say is between only us."

"Of course, my lady," agreed Grace. It wasn't like she had any other choice. She was at the mercy of these people, as was her brother. They'd been kind, given her brother a home and a future. She'd do whatever they asked of her to make sure he stayed safe.

"Torr is dying."

Hearing the words aloud made it feel more real, made it seem final. Unavoidable. Torr. Dying.

A sob gripped Grace, but she fought it down. "I know."

"I believe I've found a way to save him."

A bolt of hope speared through Grace, making her body tense. Daring to hope was dangerous, but she couldn't stop herself. "How?"

Gilda nodded to a box sitting on the coffee table. It was made of wood, wrapped with bright silver wirework shaped into an intricate vine that scrawled across the entire surface. "With this."

Grace reached for it, but Gilda's harsh command stopped her. "Stop. Do not touch it until I've told you everything." She waved to the empty seat across from her. "Sit."

Grace sat.

"Inside that box is a device created by my ancestors. Their ability to imbue artifacts with power has never been matched. This device was created for the sole purpose of healing."

"Then we should get it to the Sanguinar. Torr is getting worse fast."

"The Sanguinar will not use it."

"Why not?"

"The cost to them would be too great."

"Then who can use it?"

Gilda pinned her with a cold, black stare. The light of Grace's suite seemed to be sucked into the dark depth of her eyes, and for the first time, she saw something bleak and unforgiving inside the woman she'd come to respect. Something frightening.

In a quiet voice, the Gray Lady said, "You are the one who can save him. Perhaps the only one."

"Why me? I'm not special."

"Yes, you are. Not in the way of my people, but among humans, you are special. You can save him, should you wish to."

"I do."

"Not so fast. If you do this, you will pay a price."

"I don't care. Torr saved me. He saved my brother. I'll do anything to save him."

"Anything?"

"Yes."

Gilda nodded. "It is as I suspected, then."

"What is?"

"You love him."

Grace didn't deny it. There was no point. Gilda would know she was a liar if she did. "I love him more every day. It's killing me to watch him suffer."

"If you do this, he'll be healed, but you'll take on that suffering. This device can't create health, only transfer it. From you to him. You'll become weak and paralyzed. You'll be tied to a bed or wheelchair for the rest of your life, if you don't simply die."

Shock left Grace reeling. She swayed in her seat, gripping the soft fabric of the chair for support.

She could save Torr.

If she did, her life would be over.

In the end, there was no real choice. "If I do this, will you protect my brother, care for him as if he were your own son?"

Gilda's beautiful mouth curved in a slow, satisfied smile. "I vow it."

A heavy, comforting weight settled over Grace's shoulders as Gilda offered her promise. Her brother would be safe. Torr would live. It was all she'd ever wanted.

No. That was a lie. She wanted more than that. She wanted a lifetime with Torr. She wanted to have him love her in return, but that was just a girlish fantasy. Regardless of whether Torr got better, he would never be hers. He had bigger, more important things to do with his life than to tie himself to a human woman. She knew that. She'd always known that.

He had a destiny, and Grace was going to see to it that he fulfilled it.

"Tell me what I need to do to save him."

Chapter 5.

Nika was greeted by a line of angry faces when she arrived back at Dabyr. They were all waiting for her inside the entrance to the main hall. The gla.s.s ceiling high overhead let in the morning sunlight, and several humans sat sipping coffee in the dining area. Other than that, the place was empty, giving the angry mob room to attack.