"Did we get paid before the deal went sour?"

Kestra's breath hitched tellingly in her throat. She slapped herself in the forehead and made a little sound of frustration. "I knew I was forgetting something."

Noah entered his bedroom from the bath. He ran a towel absently over his hair as he crossed to the large wardrobe situated on the left side of the bed where Kestra had slept off his siphoning of her energy. The Demon King withdrew soft kid breeches from the wardrobe, as well as hunting boots and a simple, loose-sleeved silk shirt.

He thought about her as incessantly as ever as he dressed. More than that, even, because he was unable to help his distinct worry over her dangerous position as she ran around in the world without him. What was more, it had finally occurred to him to really wonder what in hell had been going on in her life that had put her on the other end of a hot pistol in the first place. Never mind the potential danger to her health because of their separation; what dangers were out there that had nothing to do with him?

He was worried. It weighted his heart in his chest, this dreadful fear that he hadn't done the right thing. It was bad enough he hadn't taken her from that time and place before she'd been killed the first time around. Had he thrown her back in search of a freedom that would only get her killed once again? And this time, there would be no way of fixing it. This time, after having begun the process of tying her to him and himself to her, he wouldn't be able to bear going on without her. He would already be emotionally incapable. Perhaps he had been for months.

Noah had to turn his thoughts away from that for the moment. In spite of having fetched her and brought her to him, as the Samhain moon approached, he was still in a fragile state of mind. He couldn't help it. In spite of having regained a modicum of control otherwise, he couldn't see straight when he thought about her vulnerability. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to retrieve her and demand she stay by his side for all time. Which, in all honesty, was what he was supposed to be doing. She wasn't even aware that he was being generous with his gift of freedom.

Noah knew he was merely perpetuating an illusion to try to ease the shock of what was going to happen.

Noah sighed heavily as he finally sat down in the chair that he'd held watch in as she'd slept. He rested his boots beside his feet and leaned back, rubbing at his weary eyes. He could replenish his energy again and again if he wanted to, a blessing of his power that had allowed him to avoid sleep for long periods of time in the past, even when faced with the lethargy the sun induced in his kind. However, there was no true substitute for the repairing comfort of sleep. The body healed and recovered from the long night's exertions when it slept, cycling away toxins and other by-products of an active lifestyle while rest and dreams soothed the psyche.

In all honesty, though, he was afraid of dreaming.

She was so close now.

Would his dreams be stronger, more powerful than ever before? Even more irresistible and tormenting? He'd barely survived those endless nights of imagined pleasure and completion, waking every single evening with it all suddenly out of his reach, falsely played, but remembered by his aching body and desperately pounding heart. In a way, he'd made love to her over and over again already, and yet he was now farther away from her than if they were total strangers.

Were they strangers, or were they lovers? What did she think and feel when she looked at him? Was it anything like the struggle he was currently suffering? If so, how could he even begin to go about easing her way, without allowing his own selfish needs to get in the way?

It was impossible. Especially as the moon waxed and the sacred holiday approached. The Demon King would be unable to resist the need to be with her, in her bed, and inside her body, which had been so perfectly designed for his. The hunger and the draw of her was an instinct of the ages, and no one dared try to circumvent it; those who had were never successful. With the full moon four nights away, Noah knew he had to find a way. He had only one chance to make her understand her future in a way that would make it a blessing instead of an entrapment. He would sacrifice anything to make that happen.

The Demon King lurched impatiently out of the chair, pacing the floor with his hands locked tightly onto his hips. It took a third wide circuit of frustration before he heard the knock at his door.

"I do not wish to be disturbed!" he barked to whoever was on the opposite side.

"My lord, your guest has returned," was the tentative response.

Noah stopped dead in his tracks.

"Seclude her, John, in one of the private parlors. I will be there in a moment."

Why was she back?

Apparently that detail didn't matter to the rest of him. His entire body was quickening with elation and the need to lay eyes on her again. It had only been half a day since she'd left, and already it seemed like half a year.

Noah went to retrieve his boots.

Kestra paced the room with great impatience. She'd decided to take the direct approach and ask her former host if he'd taken her money before whisking her off to England. It wasn't likely he even knew what was in her purse, unless he'd gone looking for identification. It was also possible that he hadn't even bothered to pick the purse up. He'd pointed out that she lacked ID earlier. Since she didn't carry identification under those iffy kinds of circumstances, it could go either way. Her first choice was to swallow her pride and ask. It didn't seem like he needed to steal money from her, when the sheer size and opulence of his holdings were taken into account, but to some, money was money no matter how much they had.

This way she could take his measure eye to eye. If she suspected he was lying, she would come back later and try a more stealthy approach. It wasn't the favorable choice, considering the volume of people that moved about the castle and the fact that she knew nothing of the floor plan outside of what she'd already seen. No backup, none of James's little toy technologies to help guide her. But it wouldn't be the first time she'd slunk around foreign rooms and been successful. Frankly, given her level of edginess recently, it might be fun to try and pull something over on the arrogant bastard.

Kestra turned sharply when the door opened behind her.

She'd seen a great many people and places in her lifetime, so she couldn't understand why he looked so remarkable and vital to her as he shut the door and crossed the room toward her. His clothing was so simple, clean and crisp but cut incredibly close to his body. It looked like he was about to go riding. The only thing missing from his ensemble was a riding crop and coat. Again he wore the black and tan boots of a master of the hunt, which told her he was an excellent horseman and probably hunted for sport. It was a common English pastime, even though he himself was clearly not native to England.

It was rare for her to find herself in the company of men greatly taller than herself. He had to be well over six feet in height because he made her feel smaller than usual. It probably didn't help that she'd already tried to take him down once and had had about as much luck as she would fighting a cinder block wall.

If it came right down to it, she had to admit none of that was what made her heart quicken with trepidation and the sudden urge to run for the hills. In spite of everything else, Noah was one hundred percent magnetic. Electromagnetic, and fully charged at that. Kestra was afraid that if she didn't acknowledge his potency as a male, it would give him some kind of power over her. But how could she do that and still deny the way she felt herself respond to that potency? She couldn't even hope that he was ignorant of it. Not if they truly had met in all of those heated, volatile dreams.

What was more, it seemed this time was even more powerful than any other, her entire being humming with attraction. She turned her focus inward as he neared, making a very conscious effort to keep her breathing even and her attitude strictly businesslike.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said, hoping that her cold address would bring him to a stop right where he was.

It didn't.

"It is no bother to welcome your company, Kestra. Though I admit I am surprised to see you here again so quickly. I had the impression you wished to be as far away from here as you could possibly manage."

"Actually, I have a matter of business I wanted to attend to with you."

He lifted a single dark brow in surprise and clear curiosity.

"I have more than enough business partners, Kestra. I am not interested in acquiring any others."

"The last thing I want is a partnership with you," she retorted. "My purse was on the floor of the suite. Did you happen to retrieve it?"

Is that all?

Noah couldn't answer right away. He was too busy fighting off a very volatile wash of temper. He clenched his teeth together as he tried to control a rash of temperamental impulses. He usually had a far better rein over the infamous passions of a Fire Demon, but his disappointment over her motivations for returning triggered it like very few things could. Of course he hadn't expected it to be that easy. He was a monarch, and as such expected things to take time and finesse to come about. However, it seemed as though rational thought didn't tarry long when it came to Kestra.

Just walking in the door and seeing her standing in his home had made a whole new impact, as if it hadn't happened once already. Her hair was loose now, long and full of that sheen of white that fairly sparkled. She'd changed from the designer dress and pearls he'd found her in, trading them in for a teal minidress without a single touch of decoration. It was a short-sleeved tube of Lycra that began slightly off her shoulders and ended just above mid-thigh, clinging to every lush curve like a second skin. As a result, she appeared to be little more than a very long pair of legs fitted into ridiculously high stiletto heels. Yet she was perfectly balanced and clearly in control of every fit muscle of her body. All of which were apparent to even the quickest brush of a gaze, right down to smooth, tanned legs she didn't bother to cover with hosiery.

Kestra felt her throat go tight and her mouth dry up as she registered the ominous gray clouding in his jade pupils. He wasn't showing it in his expression, or even in the relaxed pose of his body as he stood before her, but she was convinced that he was seething with emotion. Anger? Hostility? She couldn't be sure, but it was there. Every instinct in her body demanded that she acknowledge it, and demanded that she understand how truly dangerous this man was.

"No," he responded at last, his tone more dead than neutral. "I was more concerned with your safety at the time."

"Damn."

She believed him. Then again, she had figured as much to begin with. That meant the cops had her money, which meant they had Jim's money. Not to mention her weapon and her fingerprints. She would be splashed over Interpol and FBI bulletin boards already. That would make her exit out of England a little more difficult.

"Thank you. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"It was no bother," he murmured, narrowing his eyes on her thoughtfully as she moved to brush past him. "I do not suppose you would like to tell me why you were caught in the middle of the situation I found you in, would you?"

Kestra turned and faced him, barely a foot away from him.

"I don't suppose you would want to tell me how you found me in the middle of that situation, would you?" she countered.

"It is as I said. I came looking for you."

"Now you do sound like a cop. Or a private detective." She made the accusation with a narrowing of her crystalline blue eyes.

"Why? Do you often have problems with cops and detectives?"

"Right. Like I would tell you if I did?"

"I can hope," he said very simply. "I am curious about this woman I find myself involved with."

"Involved?" She barked a short, disbelieving laugh. "We are not, nor will we ever be, involved. What goes on in my life is my business, not yours or anyone else's. After I walk out that door, I will be doing my level best never to set eyes on you again."

"I am afraid that will be impossible."

His tone was more matter-of-fact than it was ominous, but for some reason, it was far more threatening to her because of it. He seemed so sure. Confident, yes, but not with the arrogance she'd attributed to him earlier. Kestra realized then that she'd been mistaken in that assessment. Arrogance implied a certain level of callousness and selfishness. What she suddenly was feeling from him had nothing to do with those traits.

She should have met the comment with outrage at its audacity, but she was unexpectedly overwhelmed with a sensation of fear unlike anything she was accustomed to feeling. Her heart pounded relentlessly, the speed of it ten times what it had been as she'd casually lain sprawled over plumbing while a security guard walked beneath her. Being shot at was far less unnerving than this man suddenly seemed. At least she knew what a person firing a gun at her was after.

"You have..." She uncharacteristically struggled for words as his eyes never left hers, becoming more jade every instant as she watched. "You're nothing to me," she whispered, grinding her teeth together when the lack of conviction came through in the softness of her voice.

"I am everything to you," he said in return, his voice just as soft but in no way deficient in conviction.

He took just one more step closer to her, the slight squeak of the leather of his boot sounding terribly loud, somehow drowning the noise of her own body as her heart pounded and her breath came quick and chaotic. Noah reached up, and the sight of his fingers unfurling, displaying his fingertips and broad palm as they reached for her, made her react. Her entire body pivoted into the slap she used to strike him away from whatever part of her was his goal.

With uncanny instincts, her opposite hand darted up to catch his other wrist as it moved, quick as flickering flame, to replace the one she'd already discouraged. Kestra felt just as surprised as he looked, if she could call the intrigued lift of his brow an expression of his surprise. She was fast, she knew, but it usually took the register of a telltale movement or something like it to justify any action. The point was, she normally wasn't fast enough to do what she'd just done. She was realistic about her own limitations, and with all of her body committed to the original strike...

"Full of surprises, hmm?"

Kestra gasped. It was as if he were reading her mind.

She released him roughly. She backed away, wanting to turn and run, only her pride keeping her from doing so.

"I don't know who you are, what you want, or how it is you've done the things you've done," she hissed angrily, "but you will never come near me again. Do you understand me?"

"Every word," he agreed.

Lies. It was lies. She could see it in the predatory look in his eyes, felt it with every fiber of her being as he stepped toward her again and again. She was being hunted. Stalked. Kestra didn't know why he threatened her so easily, but she met the perceived threat the only way she knew how.

Noah stopped midstep when, preceded by movement that was almost too fast for even his preternatural senses to comprehend, he heard the distinct click of a gun being cocked and found himself targeted right between his eyes.

"I swear to God I will," she ground out hoarsely. "Don't make me kill the man who saved my ass. I hate feeling guilty about things like that."

The remark was almost glib, and it amused the Demon King. She had no idea that the little gun was more of a threat to her than it was to him, even under the best of circumstances. It didn't change the captivating question of exactly how she had concealed the weapon while wearing so brief and tight an outfit.

Noah knew he wasn't reacting to her pulling a gun on him the way she would expect a human male to react. The increasing tremble of her outstretched arm and tightly clenched hand were clear giveaways to that fact. Still, she had to find out sometime that he was no ordinary human male, and there was no patience left within him to wait for her to get to know him a little better.

This time it was the Demon King who moved faster than perception, his left hand grabbing her wrist and removing the danger of the weapon from them both. His right arm snaked around her waist quick as lightning, jerking her up off her heels and forward into the bend of his body. She was so long and lean, so humanly hot to the touch even through her clothes as he clasped her to himself. It was like fitting a lock with its only key. She slid into him hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and breast to breast, as if they'd been born that way and sliced apart at birth. Now, finally, they were completed once more. Noah made a low, rough sound of satisfaction that rang out like the sigh released when agony was comforted at last.

Kestra was shaking head to toe with rage and apprehension and who knew what else, but none of it mattered to him. All that mattered was that he was touching her, that he was close enough to truly take in that unusual scent of sweet sugar that radiated off her in warm, delicious waves. He barely knew what he was doing as his nose drifted over her cheek, her hair, her neck. He'd waited all his life to be this close to her, and would spend all of the rest of it bringing her closer still.

When his lips touched her throat ever so slightly, the end to the strangest act of aggression she'd ever been victim of, Kestra's entire network of muscles constricted in sharp spasm. Still, she barely heard the report of the small .22 she held as it went off, forgotten on the end of her clenching trigger finger. The gun clattered to the floor, though she was sure she didn't release it. It was as if it passed right through her hand and fingers, as if they were no more than air.

She didn't give it another thought. She was far too shocked by the response flooding through her entire body as his lips traced up the artery along the side of her neck. Flooding was the only word for it, because it was as if all of her blood had burst the confines of its vessels, like a heated waterfall beneath her skin, crashing to a halt in...in places she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge.

She should have been screaming in protest, fighting tooth and nail for her freedom...at the very least kicking the crap out of him.

But she couldn't.

She was paralyzed. Paralyzed with feeling and a rush of thoughts she should never have had. All this because he'd touched his lips to the side of her neck. But in spite of this paralysis she tried to blame for her inaction, her head tilted slightly, as if to give him better access, her hand fitting against the muscles stretched across his lower ribs.

She realized what she was doing, understanding that though everything was new, it had an experienced habitualness to it. It's those damned dreams. As if they'd been real, as if they were lovers a hundred times over, she responded when he abused his knowledge of her body's sensitivities and preferences.

Kestra jerked back violently, trying to escape his well-sprung trap. She was successful for all of a single breath, and then he was following her and close to her again. Again flush against her, he stepped with her as she backed across the room, his body strong and heated against hers every single millimeter she moved, like a skilled partner in a perfect tango. She had no space to breathe, everything about his movement so much more deadly and erotic than resting still against him had been.

"Stop," she begged him just before she backed into a solid barrier. She sounded breathless and aroused even to her own ears, and her face burned with a combination of fury and mortification. "Let go of me."

Of course Noah couldn't oblige her. He had waited far too long to hold her like this in the waking world, and he was too heavily swayed by emotions and needs far out of her scope of understanding. He could feel the near fullness of the moon burning just outside the windows behind his back, alternately chilling him and firing him with a hunger that was almost as frightening to him as it was to her. It was to the point where he could no longer tell which one of them was shaking hardest.

"Not yet," he objected on rapid, heated breaths. "Not yet."

Kestra jerked her head back purely out of self-preservation when he feinted for her mouth. All she earned for her effort was a hand at the back of her neck that held her perfectly still. She felt the bite of potential tears in her eyes as alarm and bewilderment warred within her. She cried out, a frustrated growl that grew into an outcry. She struggled even harder, but it was like being a fly stuck in glue, and she made no headway and no impression on him at all. Worse yet, she affected the reactions of her own rousing body even less.

Finally, Noah was able to touch his mouth to hers.

Her resistance and reluctance were nothing new to him. In all those months of interaction, it had become like a form of foreplay for them. He knew she could accept what she was feeling only after she convinced herself that she had done her best to fight him off. The moment his lips touched hers, the soft sound she made gave away her true desires, at least those of the body she had tried so hard to keep away from him. It was enough. Hopefully her mind would follow later.

There was no time for tenderness between them. There never had been. They had always switched gears hard, and this moment was no different. He had barely had a sip of her lips when her mouth parted beneath his, demanding a speed and aggression that was painfully easy for him to fall into. As soft and beautiful as she was, there was always hardness and forcefulness beneath her more delicate exteriors. On some level he understood that it was because she couldn't bear to give him the vulnerability she associated with those things she hid within herself.

All of those finite details meant nothing just then. He let her draw him into her game just as he let her draw him into her mouth. He kissed her, tasting deeply of her antagonistic tongue, the warmth and wetness of her mouth as much like refined sugar as the rest of her radiated in sweet, fragrant waves. She was breathing as hard as he was, the rasping rhythms all either of them could hear over their crashing heartbeats.

Jasmine landed lightly on her feet, her boots scuffing slightly on the asphalt.

The female Vampire took a long, lazy look around herself, then raised her head to the cold autumn breeze. She could smell Demons on the wind, just as she could sense every creature, Nightwalker or otherwise. Either by scent or her heat-sensitive vision, anything existing within a certain proximity was known to her. Life and power, all these things tickled over her senses in one way or another, five centuries of experience giving her the skill to sort through the information adeptly. All she need do was flick down the nictitating membranes in her eyes, and in a glance she could sort out a gathering of Nightwalkers just by the disparate level of heat they gave off. Every one of them was unique, but to her it was like reciting her alphabet. She knew it all in her sleep.

She turned farther into the breeze as it picked up, allowing it to lift the black tangle of her already windblown hair. The loose black satin of her shirt fluttered against her athletic body, the untucked tails lifting until her flat midriff was exposed, revealing the sparkle of a diamond hoop along the edge of her navel and a slim gold chain wrapping through it and around the circumference of her slender waist. She caught the tails of the shirt in her hands and tied them tightly into a knot just beneath her breasts. The original knot had come undone during her flight, but now she could repair her outfit.

She walked up the drive, her long legs taking her up quickly as it changed from asphalt to gravel, then at last to a large path of rocks. There were no vehicles in the drive, as was to be expected because Demons could no more use technology than Vampires could. It forced them to live anachronistically, but Jasmine saw no true loss in not being able to properly use technology. It looked to her like it was little more than an enormous pain in the ass. Then again, that could just be because her Nightwalker chemistry often made those types of human trinkets blow up in her face. That or the fact that most Nightwalkers were born with everything they would ever possibly need to obtain comfort in life. Technology was superfluous to many Nightwalkers, downright primitive to others when compared to what they could do naturally with their power.

Ten minutes later, the Vampire who had so hastily been assigned the task of being her Prince's messenger found herself cooling her heels in the Great Hall of the Demon King's household. After five hundred years on the planet, and by default because she was a Vampire, it never took Jasmine long to get thoroughly bored. She was not the type who could stand still for more than two minutes at a time. She was also not interested all that much in protocol.

The Vampire slowly began to inspect her surroundings, walking with ease throughout the sprawl of rooms in the lower level of the Demon King's holdings. The staff was used to strangers coming and going, their master liberal with his open invitations, so she wasn't questioned as she wandered around.

Of course, being a senior Vampire and quite skilled at becoming a part of the shadows around her, she found it almost too easy to slip past the sentries that were posted here and there. Jasmine would have thought that Noah's guards would have more experience detecting her type at this point, what with the traitor Demon Ruth at large and rogue Vampires tagging after her. It was assumed that Ruth and Nico, her Vampire compatriot and an old enemy of Damien's, had survived their last battle with the Vampire Prince and his new Lycanthrope bride. A battle Jasmine had attended. If those turncoat Nightwalkers had survived that kind of devastation, then they were fearsome enemies indeed.

Jasmine left the shadows as she continued to explore. Everything around her was made of painstakingly laid English stone. It made almost every room a uniform shale or dark gray color. Every laid carpet and heavy hung drape was just as elegantly detailed and anachronistic as the rest of the place.

It was equal to the citadel in which she lived as counselor to her Prince. Since Damien had only opened court and living quarters just at the beginning of the year, there had not yet been time to have its blank walls filled or the touches added that would make a home. Here it was obvious that family had lived in the maze of rooms.

Compared to these personalized and elegantly adorned rooms, Damien's citadel was decorated like a monastery. It probably had not improved much over the past nine months because its new mistress had lived all of her life in a monastery. The least Syreena could do was try and be like other Lycanthropes. They, at least, knew what it meant to enjoy the richer comforts of the world. Of course, Jasmine's quarters were decorated with all these elegant comforts and an assortment of sins in mind. Had she been in charge of the- Jasmine stopped the fruitless thought.

She would never be the mistress of Damien's household again. Not unless some unfortunate accident befell the Princess. However, even she couldn't take delight in contemplating that. Damien was in love with Syreena, and if anything ever happened to her, it would destroy him. Jasmine would never want to see that, no matter how much that woman got on her nerves. Ignoring her deeper personal feelings in the matter, she focused solely on the fact that if Damien were to die any time soon, she would very likely end up taking his place just to keep their race from being run by some arrogant jackass.

Frankly, she wasn't the right sort of Vampire to play royalty, and since she could think of no one better, she would rather help maintain the status quo. Damien had ruled for centuries, and she would see that he continue to do so in as much happiness as she could manage.

Jasmine stopped short in her thoughts and in her steps as she sensed something out of place nearby. Curious, she turned toward a nearby door and touched the handle lightly.

Human.