A small stalactite had begun in a concavity in the ceiling.

"It's quiet," she said, settling herself in her usual sitting-spot. The darkness, impenetrable to human eyes, presented no challenge to vampiric senses.

Rafael settled cross-legged against the opposite wall. "So what about this bunch of brats they're trying to make mortal again?"

"They're not brats," she said. "And we don't think of them as being kids anymore, either. They're the Children-a special group."

He shrugged. "Okay, if you say so. But what about this procedure for un-Turning them? What do you know about it?"

The question surprised her. "As far as I know, the doctor's still working on it. We don't even know for sure if it's possible. Why?"

"Just curious. It seems like a good thing to do."

"Yeah. I feel bad for all the kids. We've got about twenty-five of them, and most of them have been through hell."

He studied her curiously. "You spend a lot of time with them?"

"Technically, I'm one of them." She smiled at his surprise. "I was sixteen when I was Turned. I didn't choose it."

"Neither did I. I was seventeen." He folded his hands, settling them against his crossed ankles-good hands, well-shaped and with a certain grace to the way the fingers moved. "Why did you drag me out of Romania?"

She tilted her head, at a loss for an answer. "Would you believe it was because I thought you were cute?"

He laughed. "Yeah. From you, I'd believe it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her offended tone was mostly feigned.

"It means I find you a little hard to follow."

"I like the sound of that."

"So what do you say? Friends?"

He held out a hand, but she didn't take it. Instead she looked at it, considering. "I like to make up with a little more than a handshake."

"Kiss and make up?"

"That's a start."

He leaned toward her, and she was shocked to realize she was genuinely nervous. Why? In three hundred years she'd slept with more men than she could possibly count. Why should this one be any different?

Because he just was. And she couldn't come up with any better answer as her lips met his and she found herself involved in a careful, chaste kiss instead of the passionate tongue-tangle she'd intended to initiate. And that careful, chaste kiss sent heat through her body more intense than anything she'd ever experienced from a kiss from any other man.

She backed up, just a little, and looked into his dark eyes. "Can you answer one thing for me?"

"Yes." The breath of his answer fluttered against her lips.

"Do you have any desire whatsoever to go back to Romania?

Back to Ialdaboth?"

"No."

She smiled. "Good," she said, and kissed him again.

Two.

They talked for a while longer, about nothing in particular. Sasha had a strange urge to unload her heart to Rafael, tell him everything she'd experienced in her long, not necessarily happy un-life. But the urge frightened her as much as it drove her, so she held back. They talked about music, movies, books, and for the first time ever Sasha had some sense of what it might be like to be a modern teenager. They faked it pretty well, she thought, considering he was technically twenty- one and she was three hundred and sixteen.

After a while she grew tired of the darkness in the cavern and offered to take him to her room. The look he gave her made her dizzy.

In spite of everything, he wanted her.

"How close is it to daylight?" he asked as they headed back up the long corridors.

"A few hours yet. Can't you tell?"

He shook his head. "I'm jet-lagged or something. I think I'm still on Romanian time."

She laughed, amused by the idea. "The nights are still pretty long here. Not as long as in Romania, but we have some time."

"Good."

Leading him into her room, she seemed to see it for the first time, and wished she'd cleaned up before inviting him in. There were bits of things everywhere-paper and wire, hemp cord, glass beads, stubby pencils-all remnants of projects she'd started and never quite finished.

Inspired by conversations with Dina, she'd gotten the idea she could design jewelry for one of Vivian's profit-making ventures, but too often in the middle of a project she got distracted by something else.

The TV was a huge culprit. It continued to fascinate her, because some part of her three century-old brain simply couldn't comprehend it.

Rafael didn't seem interested in the condition of her room, though.

He closed the door behind him, watching her. She recognized the heat in his eyes and her body responded, tingling.

But for the first time in recent memory, she was having doubts about falling into bed with a man. As he reached for her she shrugged away, almost without realizing she'd done it.

He frowned, looking hurt. "What?"

"I don't know. I think- I think maybe I like you too much to just jump into bed with you."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Even though I clocked you with the lamp?"

"Maybe because you clocked me with the lamp."

"I'm flattered." He reached for her again. She held still this time and he ran a finger gently down her face. His expression told her he was struggling with something. Finally he spoke again, his voice soft and halting.

"I was a virgin when Brigitte Turned me. She taught me everything I needed to know to make a woman crazy in bed, but I can't say I ever really enjoyed it. I was her personal whore, basically."

His fingers trailed from her face down her throat, feather light.

She wondered again why she'd decided to knock him on the head and drag him across the ocean. Had she sensed what they both were feeling now? Had she somehow known he wanted out?

"I've often wondered," he went on, his voice rumbling barely above a whisper, "what it's like to make love to a woman I actually want to be with."

"I would be . . . the first?"

"Yes."

"Now I'm flattered."

He smiled. His fingers had paused at the point of the V in the neckline of her sweater. "I like you," he said. "Plus I get the feeling you might just know what you're doing."

She grinned. "You calling me a slut?"

"Just acknowledging the fact you're about two hundred years older than I am."

"More than that."

"I was told to always underestimate a woman's age."

"Good policy."

He took his hand away, looking into her eyes. He had lowered something, some guard or wall he'd been maintaining, and she saw new depths in him. Pain, mostly, and threads of fear. Vulnerability above all. His openness made her feel vulnerable, as well.

"Would you do this for me?" he said, and for a moment she could almost swear he was afraid of her.

"Yes," she said, and then suddenly had no idea what to do next.

Nothing like an emotional preamble to make sex awkward, she thought. She'd never before felt this uncomfortable in this situation.

But to her surprise-and relief-he took over. Leaning forward, he touched his lips to hers, moved his mouth gently, as if experimenting with an action utterly new to him. She responded, moaning softly in the back of her throat. She felt as if she were about to cry. She felt almost like a virgin. Not that she remembered what that felt like.

She reached toward him, hoping to draw him closer, but he caught her hands. "I'd like to be in charge here, thank you very much."

She grinned. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I mean, if that's okay with you."

"It's perfectly okay with me."

He kissed her again, harder this time, then bent and lifted her in his arms. Laughing, he tumbled her onto the bed, landing half on top of her. His fingers found the tail of her sweater and peeled it off her, pulled the cups of her bra out of the way so he could suckle her breasts.

He was going too fast, but she couldn't fault his enthusiasm. And once he'd gotten a taste of her, he slowed down a little, sampling her skin an inch at a time while she writhed under him. He maneuvered her out of the rest of her clothes, but when she reached for his shirt buttons he pushed her hands away. "I'm in charge, remember. For a while, at least."

"Sorry. You may have to remind me a few times."

"Brigitte always-"

She laid a finger against his lips. "Don't talk about her. This is for you and me."

"All right."

He kissed her again, thoroughly exploring her mouth. She let him take the lead, restraining herself when necessary, but it wasn't long before they were both so involved that it didn't matter who initiated what.

He hadn't exaggerated when he'd said he knew how to make a woman crazy in bed. He used his fingers and his mouth on her until she was nearly weeping in ecstasy. And when he pressed inside her, hard and deep, he drove her even higher, withholding his own climax until she had shuddered to pieces twice beneath him. To her surprise, then, he started to pull out. She was certain he hadn't finished. She grasped his buttocks, stopping him.

"Don't stop," she said.

He stared down at her, his glazed-over eyes telling her that he hadn't been consciously aware of what he'd done. It took a few moments for her words to sink in, then the glaze changed to the intense, mindless look she was accustomed to seeing as he let his body take over, driving himself into her again and again, until he climaxed with a soul-deep moan.

"Oh, God," he breathed, sagging above her, propped on trembling arms.

She shifted under him, touched his shoulder to urge him down next to her. She curled her body into his arms, and he cradled her close, trembling. She couldn't tell if it was the aftershock of his orgasm, or if he was trying not to cry.

"Are you all right?" Her voice came soft, barely more than a murmur.

He nodded. "It's never felt like that before. It's never been that good. Thank you."

Smiling, she kissed him gently on the forehead. "You're welcome."

They lay curled together for a time, then Rafael sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. He had been crying, she was surprised to discover. His show of vulnerability touched her.

Apparently he'd had enough of it, though, because he pointed at the TV.

"You get a signal down here?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes. Nicholas spliced into a cable feed somewhere above ground for me. The picture's crap most of the time, when it's there at all. Mostly I watch DVDs."

"Wow. Where do you get them?"

"Different places. I buy them here and there, or rent them." She grinned, pointing to a stack of discs next to the chest of drawers. "Those are all from Blockbuster. Good luck to them, trying to collect late fees."

He laughed. "They must totally hate you."

"I keep forging new membership numbers so they don't know it's me. Plus I can put the whammy on them pretty good." She lowered her voice, imitating the vibrations of compulsion. "Give me three copies of Gladiator. I'm never bringing them back."

Chuckling and naked, he wandered to the pile of DVDs, glancing through the titles, then looked at a similar stack of music CDs that leaned precariously nearby. "I never had much of my own stuff. Wasn't allowed. We had to sneak stuff in or sneak out to find it."

"Ialdaboth runs a tight ship, huh?"

"Very. One of my friends got his hands chopped off for smuggling in old Eagles albums."

She winced. "Didn't they grow back overnight?"