It wasn't until she felt the warm air of the bedroom on her bare legs that she caught her breath and made herself slow down. She looked up and held his eyes as she lowered herself onto the bed, then offered her hand again and drew him along with her, stretching out face to face, their hands moving once more but slower, with more care. She tested the hard muscles of his torso, first with her palms and then her lips, and he let her set the pace, watching her, silent.

Finally, she unzipped and tugged off his jeans, and her heart began to thunder in her chest and throat as she let her eyes roam over the length and breadth of the vampire in her bed.

His hand touched her face. "Are you afraid?"

She swallowed, and at first shook her head, but then nodded. "I don't want to be."

He rose up and pulled her close, the smell and heat of his skin making her feel slightly dizzy; she remembered him talking about the aura his kind gave off, and wondered if this was it. His mouth moved along her collar-bone and down her shoulder, and he murmured into her ear, "All you have to say is 'Stop.' "

"I don't want to stop."

He smiled. "Then close your eyes, my love, and lie back."

He began a slow, soft exploration of her body, kissing her throat and her lips again while his fingers hooked in her panties and slid them down over her hips; he moved down and kissed the exposed skin, breath hot on her belly. She tried to close her eyes as he'd said, but she was too mesmerized watching the way he moved-almost serpentine, almost like a cat, nothing like a human man. Yet she wasn't afraid of him; no, she never really had been.

There was reverence in his touch, but also a deep need that she could feel rising from him like a shimmer of sunlight. The stark black lines of his tattoo seemed alive as he curled around her, one hand cupping her neck to bring her mouth up to his, the other sliding between them, over the curve of her stomach, and down.

She moaned into his mouth and arched up against his palm. God, it had been so long . . .

She wrapped one leg around his waist and pressed full against his body, loving how they seemed to fit each other, as if her hip had been made to lock into his just so, and her arms were the perfect length to wind around his back. His fingers dipped gently inside her, and she whimpered, the feeling not nearly deep enough, not nearly close enough.

Twisting, she moved out from under him and nudged him to his back. She leaned down to kiss him deeply, shifting her hips back, and lowered herself onto him with aching slowness, joining them inch by slippery inch.

Now he groaned, and sat up, letting her rise and fall against him with his arms around her waist. She clawed into his back and rocked up and down, eyes shut tight in concentration . . . then in near-screaming frustration. Alone, the deep driving pleasure of him wasn't enough for her. She needed more.

"I want all of you," she whispered hoarsely. "Please."

Before he could even come up with the words for a question, she lowered her head and bit him hard where his neck joined his shoulder.

He moved so fast she couldn't react-a ragged animal snarl tore from his throat, and he flipped her onto her back, driving into her so hard she cried out and let her head fall back, exposing her throat.

Needles of hot pain thrust into her skin and she felt his mouth clamp on her neck.

"Yes," she moaned, pulling him back into rhythm with her body, holding his head against her with one hand. He entered and withdrew in one slow undulation, and she gave herself over completely, tumbling over one cliff and then another, her body quaking around him, a nova kindling in her heart and tearing the universe into pieces.

The aftershocks rolled through her forever, but distantly she was aware of movement, of him reaching down over the side of the bed for something. She heard a click and saw the flash of a blade in the darkness.

Her eyes focused on the berry-bright droplets that gathered along a shallow cut, hovering over her mouth. Tentatively, she reached up and licked one away, earning a tremor as violent as her own. She tasted again, letting the salt-sweetness burn on her tongue, then raised her lips to his skin, and sucked.

She felt him move into her again, this time so slowly that every tiny motion echoed through her body. His heart was beating hard against her breasts, and she could smell her blood on his breath. It only made her want more.

Over and over again, they found each other, sometimes clawing and biting, sometimes with delicious teasing anticipation. Time lost its purpose, as did everything else beyond each other. She found the knife beneath the pillow and opened his skin again, and his teeth found purchase in hers as well, and they drank each other in nibbles and sips, savoring, over and over.

When at last he collapsed on top of her, sweat soaking them both and the mingled smells and tastes of their bodies heavy in the air, he laid his head on her shoulder, shaking, and they held on to each other tightly as the hours of afternoon passed outside and the world went on with no idea that two wayward stars had collided and nothing would ever, ever be the same.

Cold, black water engulfed her, and she tried to scream . . . hands in the dark, laughter . . .

Miranda woke with a start, struggling against an invisible assailant that turned out to be the comforter, her breath and heart both racing. She sat up into the darkness and tried to calm herself, torn between the urge to run and the urge to strike out.

She groped mindlessly to one side and shocked herself when her palm met something solid.

Memory returned. She gasped.

David was sound asleep beside her, the sheets low over his hip, the faint watery daylight coming in beneath the bedroom door just barely silhouetting the line of his body and the light from the Signet a dim red bathing the places where there should have been dark cuts in his skin. They had already healed.

Vampires were sound sleepers during the day; he didn't even stir in response to her movements. She sat there watching him for a moment while she grounded herself-it was far easier than she expected thanks to the gravitational pull of his oblivion. Still, she was wide-awake and anxious . . . not to mention she had to pee. She climbed out of the bed and, wincing at how sore and strained her muscles were, went to the bathroom, washed her face, and tried to get some sense back in her thoughts.

She looked at herself in the mirror. There were three bite marks in her throat, one on the left and two on the right, and though the holes themselves were closing, there was blood dried on her neck, and the pale purple shadows of bruises forming on her breasts. She smiled a little and touched each one, feeling fluttery inside at the memory.

The fuzziness refused to leave her mind even after she splashed cold water on her face and cleaned herself up with a washcloth-she felt almost high, tremulously weak in all her limbs, but it was a pleasant sort of weirdness.

She went back into the bedroom to find he'd shifted position, turning over to face away from the door; she smiled again, remembering the silk of his skin against her lips and the way the tattoo had been raised, just a little the way she'd hoped it would be, like a relief map of ink.

She caught sight of his knife on the bedside table. The blade was still open from the third . . . fourth? time, and seeing it almost made her stagger backward as the realization of what they had done hit home.

I drank blood. His blood. That's why I feel so strange. Oh my God, I drank blood.

And I liked it.

Miranda slid into the bed and curled up against his back, kissing his shoulder and wrapping one arm around him to press her hand against his heart. She ran her hand over his chest, then around the side, sighing happily. He had cooled off in his sleep, but it didn't bother her; the blankets were warm, and she was exactly where she wanted to be, and if she were to give the appropriate attention, he'd be warm again in seconds. She considered doing so, but there was too much going on in her mind . . . and as tired as he had seemed, she didn't want to wake him yet.

She wasn't surprised at the nightmares. What had surprised her was that they didn't come until she was asleep. There had been no flashbacks, no real hesitation except at the beginning-for a few hours her memories had been banished to the past where they belonged.

But now there was something new to fear. She could feel it coursing through her. It was as if every cell of her body had opened up to take him in, and something dark and hungry was stretching inside her, waking slowly from years of slumber. She knew the rules-if it happened again, or if she encouraged it, she would change. Forever.

It's not too late. In a few days everything will be back to normal. It doesn't have to happen again.

The body in front of her shifted, muscles flexing and twisting, and he turned over to face her, wide-awake with sadness in his eyes. "Don't worry," he said softly. "It won't."

Regret rolled through her, but she said, "How did you . . ."

"I can hear you," he replied. "Open your shields a little."

She did as he said, parting the barrier like a curtain just enough to let his energy in, and instantly her mind was flooded with thoughts and images, memories . . . and pain. He'd been awake long enough to feel her reaction to what had happened. Her fear had dashed whatever embryonic hopes he'd had.

"No," she said. "No, I didn't mean that. I . . . I just feel so weird . . . I . . ."

She couldn't find the words. It was hard to think straight with his mind so close to hers, the blood between them so strong it hurt. All she knew was that she didn't want him to be sad, and that she needed him to understand. She shut her eyes, not wanting to block him out but her mind reeling from even a few seconds' connection.

"It is a little overwhelming," he affirmed. "But it has its advantages."

"Oh . . . like what?"

She felt him touch her; as his fingers wrapped around her shoulder, his energy pulsed through her in a psychic caress, centered on his hand and spreading out to her toes. His hand moved around over her heart, and this time he sent emotion coupled with the pleasure. It felt like he was touching her everywhere at once, inside and out, and Miranda's breath hitched in her chest. She couldn't help but respond in kind, grabbing his hand in both of hers and projecting her own emotions into him. She felt him shiver slightly.

"You're so strong," David said. "I don't think you realize even a tenth of what you can do."

She smiled. "I'm starting to." She breathed slowly, finally taking the time to actually feel out what was different, and found it wasn't nearly as frightening as she'd initially thought-it was dark, yes, but it was still her. Whatever changed inside her, she could still choose what to do with it. She thought about the vampires at the Haven-about the one in her arms right now-and how they used what they were to protect, not abuse, even though the power within them was a hundred times darker and pervaded their entire lives.

Surely, if they could do that, she could . . . and, she realized, she wanted to. Something about this felt right to her. She had spent her entire life feeling out of place, out of step with the world, never feeling completely alive . . . but now, she was starting to wake up to who she could be, and whoever this new Miranda was, she wanted more.

"I'm sorry I freaked out," she said. "This is . . . it's a lot to take in."

"I understand." She could feel that he did; she could feel, in fact, that he was a little freaked himself.

She leaned in to rest her forehead against his, and for a moment they simply breathed in each other's presence, taking strength from it as if their energy came from a single source and all they had to do was share it.

"How long can you stay?" she asked.

"Only until sunset . . . I'll have a lot waiting for me when I get back."

"So that gives us, what, two hours?"

"Two and a half until it's really dark enough for me to go."

"Good," she said, and kissed him. "Show me what else we can do now."

He laughed against her lips and pounced on her, ideas blossoming in his mind with the eagerness of a teenager. She laughed, too, catching his mouth again, forgetting sore muscles, the future, and everything else, surrendering to the perfect sweetness of desire.

He was, in fact, about an hour late in leaving-between their last round of lovemaking, which actually became two once they got in the shower, and the hunt for scattered clothing, and the longing not to leave her side, he left Harlan waiting at the rendezvous point until almost eight P.M.

They stood at the doorway embracing one more time, neither wanting to let go. "Do I have to make you promise again?" she asked into his neck.

"No," he answered. "I'll come back. It may be a few days, but . . . Miranda . . ." He chuckled, almost panicked at the certainty he felt. "I couldn't stay away from you now if I wanted to."

"Is there anything I should do, or watch out for? Should I stay out of the sun?"

"It won't hurt you, but until the blood has burned out of your system you'll probably be extra sensitive to light and maybe even to sound. Your senses will be more intense at times, and at times normal. Just stay grounded, and by the end of next week you'll be fine."

"No," she said, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. "I'll be normal, but I won't be fine. I won't be fine until I wake up next to you every night."

He hugged her even more tightly. There was no use denying it. She would get what she wanted from him, and he would yield gratefully to her will. He could fight it for eternity and condemn them both to misery, or he could listen to the part of him that knew, deep down, he belonged to her. Perhaps the Signet would accept her, perhaps not . . . but one way or another he would have Miranda by his side for as long as she was willing to stay with him. "I know. Just . . . give me a little time. Let this pass, while I make sure the Haven is safe for you. Then I'll bring you home."

"All right." She nipped his ear lightly, and it was all he could do not to throw her back against the door and take her again-he couldn't seem to get enough of her. He'd spent an entire day drunk on her body and he was already an addict.

They kissed again, deeply. When he took a step back, trying to break contact long enough to walk away, he said, "In the meantime . . . say your farewells to the sunlight."

She grinned. "The sunlight can go to hell." She moved forward and kissed his forehead, then his lips, then the hollow of his throat. "I'll see you again soon."

He squeezed her hands, then let go, and bowed to her. "As you will it, my Lady."

Fifteen.

Faith was already grinning as she strode down the hall to the workroom, and when she entered, she had to stop herself from laughing out loud.

The Prime was in his chair going over network reports, but even with his astounding psychic protections, the edges of his aura were leaking out, and the entire room was saturated with how he was feeling.

She had to double the thickness of her own shields to keep herself from getting so turned on she dragged Samuel off to the broom closet.

"Sire? You wanted to see me?"

He looked up from the computer, saw her face, and frowned. "Something on your mind, Second?"

She gave up and burst out laughing.

The Prime shook his head, looking aggravated, but only on the surface. He was clearly having trouble keeping the lazy satisfaction out of his expression. "Go ahead," he said, more good-naturedly than she'd ever heard him. "Get it out of your system."

"Sorry," she said, not sorry at all. "I trust you're feeling . . . refreshed this evening?"

An eye roll. "I don't suppose you kept this to yourself."

"I didn't say a word to anyone," she insisted, "but, Sire, you've never stayed out all day before. People were bound to talk. You know how this place is-and half the Elite has had a betting pool going on how long it would take you two to sleep together, so . . ."

"You are joking, right?"

"Partly. It wasn't a betting pool exactly but Elite Fifty-One owes me twenty bucks." She sat down, noticing that while he was working his feet were propped up on a second chair, something else he never did. He was also looking a tad rumpled instead of his usual pressed-and-tailored.

"I want doubled security on Miranda's apartment," he said. "I have no reason to believe I was followed there, but I'm not taking any chances."

"As you will it."

"Also I'm not happy with the sensor performance in sector twenty-eight-G, so get a team assembled to go out tomorrow night and replace several of the units. It will take me until then to get the last two built. Do you have anything new to report?"

"No, Sire. The city's been quiet since the raid."

"What about Bethany Blackthorn?"

Faith wanted to voice her protests again, but didn't; one thing she knew about him was that he hated being nagged, and that he always listened the first time, even if he didn't agree. He could quote word for word conversations they'd had years ago. Repeating herself would only annoy them both. "She's up and moving around but hasn't made any move toward wanting to leave. The guards say she's a little spooky, but no trouble."

He nodded, his eyes back on the monitor. "I'd like to request a personal favor, if I may."

She kept her surprise to herself. "Yes, Sire?"

"I'd like you to go by Miranda's and make sure she's all right, perhaps even several times this week. Let me know immediately if she's exhibiting any potentially dangerous symptoms."

"Dangerous? Dangerous how-oh." Faith nodded, understanding. "You traded blood."

"More than we should have. I'm concerned that she may have a stronger reaction both because she's so outstandingly psychic and because I'm, well, me."

"I'd be happy to check on her," Faith agreed. "I was going to anyway so I could get all the juicy details."