His frozen stance shattered with a burst of agitated movements.

"Where?" His hands were already fumbling with her gown.

"What does it matter-"

"Where!" He'd gone as white as chalk, his eyes awash with pain and denial. And it wrenched her heart anew.

Too tired to resist, she lifted up the thick fall of her hair to reveal the small, round sore. His fingers hovered just above it, shaking. He bit his bottom lip hard and gave one sharp shake of his head. "No."

She forced herself to look him in the eyes. "I'm done for."

"No." He took a shallow breath. "There are treatments."

At this, she allowed a small smile. "You know better than anyone how effective those treatments are, Ian. They're almost worse than the disease."

"I'll care for you. You won't be alone. We will find a cure. I swear it."

"Ian... You know what lies in store. Pain, fevers, sores, deformity, madness. You said yourself that you would have helped Maccon go."

"Because he was already more than half gone!" Ian gave her a little shake. "I will not do that to you, so don't you f.u.c.king ask that of me, Daisy. Do not dare!"

She let him see the resolve in her eyes. "That existence is not life. I won't do it, Ian. Do not ask me to become that."

"No..." His expression crumpled. "No, Daisy, no." A sob tore from him, and he buried his head in her hair. "I won't let you. I can't-"

She cradled him, cooing under her breath as he cried. His arms wrapped around her, a vise that wouldn't let go as his lean frame shook. "Do not do this. Please. I can't lose you, too."

"No, love," she managed. "Not now. There's time yet."

She let him undress her and helped him with his clothes, their kisses soft, silent, his hands shaking as he touched her everywhere, mapping the topography of her body and she his. His gloriously strong body that would never age, never grow ill. He was the miracle that she could never be as a human.

Slowly, they relearned each other. There, in the sanctuary of their bed, with him, his touch, his taste, she was timeless, eternal. She was whole. She held onto the feeling until he finally slept, his limbs entwined with hers.

Rest, however, eluded Daisy. Carefully, so as not to wake Ian, she slipped from the bed and went out onto the balcony. Moonlight turned her skin marble white. Staring down at her bare arms, she thought of her life. She had not lived it as she ought. A cold rage swept over her, and her hands shook. She had not taken control of her wants and needs. And now her chance for happiness would go to waste. Daisy bowed her head and struggled not to scream. But as her breathing slowed and calm descended, a thought swirled within her, tantalizing with possibility. She straightened. Could it work? Could she do it?

Ian did not stir when she came back inside and padded on silent feet into the dressing room. Antic.i.p.ation and fear sent her blood to racing as she prepared to head out. Of the two emotions, fear was the greater. The unknown had always frightened Daisy, but she would face it now. She only prayed that Ian would understand when he learned what she had done.

Chapter Thirty-nine.

Ian's fist nearly broke through the front door of Archer House. He pummeled it with all the terror and pain that gripped his soul.

"Open up!" His shout ripped his throat raw. "Open, d.a.m.n you!"

Before he could howl and shred the door to bits with his claws, it whipped open.

Miranda stood in shocked fury, her green eyes glinting. "Northrup, have you gone mad? You scared my butler into his closet-"

"Where is she?" He shook with the need to hold Daisy. Waiting only made his wolf whine and his muscles twitch.

The sight of Miranda blinking in confusion nearly brought him to his knees. He knew in his gut that she hadn't a clue where Daisy had gone. He'd known the instant he'd woken up alone that Daisy had left for good.

Bile surged in his throat. His knees cracked hard against the flagstone. She was gone. He felt it, felt her soul slipping away from him and leaving him ice cold. Leaving him alone.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Ian," Miranda whispered fiercely. "Where is my sister?"

Fury and despair had his fangs sinking into his lip and tasting blood. She'd given up. Quit on him. A keening cry tore through the air. He realized it was his.

Words felt like broken gla.s.s in his mouth. "She's taken her own way out."

Her footsteps echoed in the silence as Daisy walked slowly across the Waterloo Bridge. She was afraid. So very afraid and cold. It made her want to turn tail and run, back to Ian and his warmth. Wrapping her arms about her middle, she kept going. A thick fog had come up, shrouding the bridge in murky gray bunting, punctuated only by the ghostly glow of the gas lamps.

She would not think about him. About her family. Her life. Her step stuttered. Think about Maccon. What he'd become. Deformed. Grotesque. In agony. She shivered, her steps slowing.

The mad beating of her heart overshadowed the mournful wail of a foghorn and the clang of a buoy. Her lips trembled, her breath coming short.

I am afraid. I want to go home.

Her fingers curled around the cold, slick wood of a piling as she stepped onto the pier. Just beyond, the barge floated at anchor as if waiting for her to pay a call. What if he said no? What if she had to inhabit another body? Bile rose in her throat, threatening to let loose. Her muscles tensed as she moved to pull herself up. The water below her raced onward, making her dizzy.

Ian. What would he think? Would he understand that she had no other choice? Would he find her repugnant? Shame burned in her belly. On a cry, she tore away from the piling. "I cannot."

"You can. Because you are no coward."

Daisy jumped at the sound, a scream clogged in her throat as a figure emerged from the fog.

The man stepped closer, his familiar features illuminated by the weak lamplight behind her.

His voice was a low melody in the dusk. "I've been waiting for you."

"You've been watching me."

"Yes."

She ought to be furious, but he had promised Ian. "Then you knew I would come to ask-"

"Of course." He gave her a wry smile. "We are, after all, the ears of London."

Her insides trembled. He would make dying easy. She knew that now, and she didn't know if she appreciated the gesture. I am afraid. She blinked down at the hand he held out.

"Salvation is yours," he said. "The question is, how much are you willing to sacrifice for love?"

There, glinting in the black bed of his gloved palm, it lay. A silver charm in the form of a G.o.ddess, with the wings of an angel.

Chapter Forty.

It wasn't easy to find Ian. Aside from his home and Ranulf House, both of which were unnervingly empty, she hadn't a clue where to look. As a last resort, she went to Miranda's home.

Her sister ran out into the hall to meet her.

"Daisy! Where have you been?"

Daisy tried to smile, but she was too weak. Her body felt odd, heavy yet light as if she might float away from it at any moment. The heart within her chest was like a ballast stone, an uncomfortable bulk that stretched against her breastbone-a sensation, she was a.s.sured, that would lessen with time. "Later, pet. I need to find Ian. Do you know where he is?"

Miranda's eyes pinched. "He was beside himself. He thought..." She clenched Daisy's arm. "He was under the impression that you went off to kill yourself."

Guilt speared her, and with it, a cold fear that he would find what she'd done even worse.

"Well, obviously I did not," she said briskly, and then winced at her own callousness. "Panda, where is he?"

"Oh, how glib you are acting. You scared the devil out of me, Daisy! I... Oh, Daisy, Archer told me about what's happened." She teared up. "You must know that we will help you."

Daisy stroked Miranda's cheek. "I'm sorry to have worried you all. It was a misunderstanding. Everything will be all right now, dearest."

"That is supposed to be what I say to you-" Miranda stopped short and studied her with a keen eye. "You look odd. Lovely, but... odd."

Well, she felt odd. Daisy could no longer bite back her impatience. "Panda! I need Ian. Now." Indeed, if she didn't see him soon, she might scream.

"He's at the Plough and Harrow," said a male voice behind them.

Talent limped forward on limbs still healing. "He's gone out of his head. I came to see if Lady or Lord Archer could talk him down"-cold accusation burned into her-"because I thought you were gone."

"How did you get in?" Miranda asked.

"Flew through an open window."

Miranda blinked in surprise, but Daisy was already gathering her skirts.

"Daisy, wait!" Miranda searched her face. "I'm sorry I stood in your way. He loves you so."

"I know." And the knowledge gave Daisy the strength to run to him.

Clemens was in a state when she arrived. The whey-faced barkeep paced in front of his tavern, wringing his hands and muttering about crazed n.o.blemen.

"He threw everybody out," Clemens told her. "Had his man give me a sack of coins and said he'd buy the use of the place for the night."

Daisy moved to go in when he blocked her path. "He ain't in his right mind, la.s.sie. I'm fearing for your safety."

She meant her touch to be light, but she ended up all but shoving Clemens to the side in her haste. "I've nothing to fear from him."

He was sitting at their table, a forlorn figure hunched in the near darkness of the deserted tavern. From Clemens's warning, she feared he'd been drinking or had possibly destroyed the room, but he simply sat, alone in the quiet. Elbows on the table, his head in his hands, he didn't see her approach. For a moment, she wondered if he knew she was there.

"Get the f.u.c.k out."

She stopped at his harsh command, and her stomach dipped.

Ian didn't lift his head to acknowledge her as he spoke in a dead, flat voice. "I don't care who you are or what you want. I've paid for this s.p.a.ce. Now go."

Her lips trembled in a smile. Ridiculous that she should be smiling now, but it was that or cry. "Ian," she whispered.

His lithe body tensed so hard that every muscle along his shoulders and arms stood out in fine relief against his shirt. His chest lifted on a deep breath, and she knew without doubt that he was scenting her. In a rush, he exhaled. Slowly, as though he were afraid to look, he let his hands fall and he raised his head.

Red rimmed the azure color of his eyes. Thick auburn stubble shadowed his jaw and throat. A stain, whiskey perhaps, spread over the expanse of his rumpled linen shirt. He looked ghastly. He looked wonderful.

She expected him to come to her, but he didn't move. He stared at her for a long moment, his lower lip twitching, his eyes wide and agonized. Daisy fought the urge to fidget. Her blood moved like sludge through her veins, a painful feeling, compounded by the ache in her chest. Part of her wanted to run away; the other part wanted to run into his arms.

His voice cracked through the silence. "You left." A grimace of pain twisted his features. "I thought you had-" He bit down on his lip and swallowed audibly.

She ground her fists into her skirts to keep still. "I know. I'm sorry, Ian. So sorry."

Ian blinked as if her words were a physical blow. "Where did you go?" His teeth clicked together. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Daisy's hand floated up to her chest to rest there. How was it that her heart still hurt? "I..." She couldn't find the courage.

"Why are you hovering there?" he said quietly, not moving, barely breathing. "Are you afraid of me then?"

She took a step closer to him. "Never."

His jaw clenched as his gaze slid away. "Perhaps you should be. I'm in a rare temper just now."

"You don't appear to be."

He snorted softly, without humor. "For future reference, la.s.s, a wolf's always dangerous when he's gone still." His mouth curled in a parody of a smile as his hands clenched into fists. "And I'm of a mind to *stroop yer backside,** as ye so kindly put it once."

The hurt surrounding him made her eyes water. She would make it up to him. With everything she had, she would make him feel loved and cherished.

"You still don't scare me, Ian Ranulf."

His eyes fluttered closed for one pained moment. When they opened, they shone brilliant blue. "Then come here." He exhaled with a ragged growl. "Come here. Let me touch you, if you're real." His throat worked. "I want to touch you. I need to touch you."

"Ian." She took a shuddering breath. "I did something."

He heard the regret in her voice, and his eyes grew watchful. "What?" His voice was flat, afraid. "What have you done?"