"Me."

She sounded so certain, so resolute, that he could almost believe she knew more about it, somehow, than he did. She shifted a little closer to him, her mouth curving just a little at the corners. Her clear blue eyes, as always, entranced him, but lately they'd held more than simply her love for him. There was something else there-mystery, more than even the usual mysteries of a woman.

"You could never leave me." Her voice was little more than a whisper, but it thrummed with power. "And if something did happen, if you were lost there, even for a moment, I could bring you home."

"How do you know?"

"I know. Whatever you did to me when you drank me, it bonded us. There's power, but it's only protective power. I can protect myself, the babies. And you."

Hadn't he had the same thought just the other day? All the more reason to believe her.

She leaned toward him, until he could taste her breath on his lips.

"You can't get away from me that easily."

Her kiss held a smile, and he returned it as his mouth moved against hers. He savored her mouth for a long moment, a hand sliding up her back, the other unable to resist the temptation to cup her breast.

Her nipple sprang taut into his palm. The contours of her breasts had changed already, filling out a bit, and she'd told him to be careful touching them, because sometimes they hurt. But she was leaning into him now, pressing harder into his palm.

He wanted her. But he only kissed her, caressed her. They'd agreed reluctantly that it might be best to abstain during her pregnancy, because it was so odd and impossible and neither of them wanted to risk losing the babies. It was hard to resist her, but he had gone decades at a time without sex. He was certain he could go a few more months.

At least, he'd been certain when they'd made the decision. Now he wasn't so sure. After a time, she withdrew, with a small sound of regret. "It would probably be okay," she whispered.

"But what if it wasn't?" That scared him, too. And it was one thing he could control in the midst of the out-of-control spiral that had become his life. He could keep his hands off Lorelei, keep himself from endangering their children.

She smiled a little, and he knew she understood. Her hands moved gently down his arms, until her fingers tangled with his. "Go where you need to go. I'll be sure you come back. I promise."

He kissed her softly. "Thank you." Then he settled onto the bed.

She stretched out next to him, curled her small, peach-colored self against him, and he put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in a little closer, until he could feel her heartbeat.

"Go," she whispered, and he closed his eyes.

Worried, Lorelei watched as Julian drifted off. He seemed to be asleep, but she could tell he wasn't. His alertness made a kind of echo in her own head, so she always knew when he was awake and when he had entered the slower, meditative state that, for him, passed for sleep.

It concerned her that he was afraid to look into his own mind. He so rarely seemed truly discomfited, and that he would be afraid of something as simple as another man's memories was, to her, disturbing.

She understood, though, or began to, as he let himself sink into himself and she followed him into the subconscious that had been blended with his own by his taking of the Senior's blood. She could feel the rhythms of his mind actually change, until he felt like a different person.

No wonder it frightened him. It scared her, too. Scared her that her lover, her mate, seemed to be disappearing. Suddenly she wondered if she'd been too confident in herself. How could she bring him back if she couldn't feel or see or even recognize him?

The memories were there, clear and accessible but hidden behind the long stretch of memory Julian called his own. He'd dipped only into the more recent of those other memories. To get what he needed, he had to go back hundreds, maybe thousands, of years. And to do that, he had to let go of his own memories, his own sense of self.

To do it without the intense pain, he had to do it willingly.

But . . . how?

Even with the reassurance of Lorelei's presence lurking on the edges of his awareness, he didn't know how to let go that completely.

And if he did-if he even could-how was he supposed to know how to come back? He had no road map. It would be so easy to get lost.

He could sense Lorelei, though, on the other side, a beacon to guide him home, when it came time to return. The lifeline gave him courage.

So he let himself sink deeper than he'd ever sunk before, past the edges of memory beyond which he previously hadn't tried to venture.

Twenty-five . . . fifty . . . a hundred years of another man's life It was like wading through an underwater jungle, with tendrils hanging down from above, touching him from time to time. A quick current of memory occasionally trembling over his skin. Darkness amongst the threads of light. Odd muffled sounds in the distance, the voices of other, more distant memories.

It was so hard not to be afraid.

Lorelei.

I'm here.

He clung to her, a mental sensation that felt as if he were holding her hand, and headed for that dark place where he had no desire to go.

He found William there, as he knew he would. He'd been avoiding it since he'd first sensed the Senior's relationship with William in the sea of inherited memories. It was too intimate, too painful, and too alien to anything he had ever experienced. But it stood like an insurmountable reef between him and his destination. And somehow, he had to get past it, past William, back to Ruha.

Go on. I'm with you. Lorelei's voice was distant, a faint, wispy sound.

I can't.

He lurched toward the surface, abandoning the quest in what he knew full well was an attack of cowardice. He just couldn't do it. Not now.

He opened his eyes and looked at Lorelei, who regarded him with some sympathy but more disappointment.

"You have to," she said.

Julian sighed. "I know."

Sitting on the bed next to Julian, Lorelei drew her knees up under her chin and watched him sleep. That he had fallen asleep worried her-he almost never really slept-but it didn't worry her as much as his reluctance to find his way through the Senior's memories. He kept delaying it, when he knew there simply was no time for delay.

Somebody needed to talk some sense into him, somebody who understood better than she what he was facing.

She reached over and touched him lightly, the tips of her fingers in his hair, barely touching his scalp. Then she rolled carefully out of the bed and went into the front room of their living quarters.

She needed to talk to Lucien. Of course, she had no idea where he was-he was one of the most elusive people she'd ever met-but if she thought about him hard enough he usually showed up. So she took a seat on the soft couch, closed her eyes, and thought about him.

She had almost drifted to sleep when a knock fell on the door.

Jerking awake, she got up and went to let Lucien in.

"You rang?" he said, smiling a little.

"You could say that," she answered. Glancing over her shoulder toward the bedroom, she stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. "Let's talk somewhere else."

He nodded and headed down the hallway. "How are you feeling?"

he asked.

"I'm okay. For the most part. But Julian's a mess, and you need to do something about it."

"Cutting to the chase, are we?" He stopped walking. "Should we just talk here, or do you want to sit somewhere?"

Lorelei's teeth clenched involuntarily, responding to what felt, at first, like mocking from Lucien. But it wasn't, she realized, looking at his face more closely. He was concerned. He wanted to be sure she was comfortable.

"Let's sit." She tried to keep the fear out of her voice, but it was hard. Damned hormones, anyway.

He held out his hand. She took it, he squeezed her fingers lightly, and they were in his office. "Have a seat," he said, and she did.

He leaned against the desk. "So what's up?"

"We need what's in Julian's head, and he won't go get it. You need to talk to him."

Lucien grimaced. "It's a lot of memories. A lot of time to wade through."

"It's not just that."

"I know." He pushed away from the desk. "I'll talk to him." Then, to Lorelei's surprise, he took a step toward her and laid his hand over the curve of her belly. "How are you really?" She held still, fighting the urge to flinch away from his touch. His long fingers were warm against her. "Scared."

His hand shifted, his fingers tightening a little. "I can feel them."

Her gaze jerked to his face to see a soft smile curving his lips.

"Can you?"

"Hmm. They're . . . so small. Sweet. Lovely."

Lorelei swallowed tears, not certain where they had come from.

"They're not. . . ?"

"They're not human, if that's what you're about to ask. Not quite, and frankly that's not unexpected. But they're not dangerous. Not evil."

His hand slid away. "It'll be all right."

"No, it won't. Not if you can't get Julian to do what he has to do."

Lucien sighed. "I'll take care of it."

"Good. Then that's one less thing I have to worry about."

"Just worry about the babies. They need you."

Again with the damned tears. Lorelei forced a watery smile.

"Thank you."

Three.

Across the ocean, under the ground, the power grew. Black and strange, crawling, filling all the space it had, then breaking through a dark carapace to grow again.

Had you taken your rightful path, you would have this power, too.

The path of darkness, of death. Julian could feel the thick blackness that was Ialdaboth's mind. He fed from death. Created it so he could devour it. Hatred and anger like honey in his mouth, bringing him the strength he needed to exist, to grow, to dominate and become.

Become what?

You wish you could know. But you have no ability to know, because you have sought life.

But Julian knew there was strength in life. He had felt the power growing within him, though, as yet, he only knew it existed, not what he could do with it or what it made of him.

Death feeds us. We kill to live. We are demons, and we should never try to be anything else. It is not what we are meant to be.

But we feed from life, he thought. Life's blood, flowing dark and red, full of the pulses of living. Ialdaboth had chosen the wrong metaphor.

You are a fool. You will die, all of you. You with your self- righteousness, all your misguided followers. The girl. And your Julian jolted awake to find Lorelei's warm body spooned against his back. She was sleeping soundly, her breathing slow and steady. He rolled toward her and watched her for a few minutes, absorbing the familiar lines of her face, her soft smells, the sounds of her breathing.

Finally he leaned forward to kiss her gently, tasting her mouth without waking her.

Reluctantly, he rose to get dressed.

Lucien wasn't in his office, so Julian went on to Aanu's room in the hospital wing. Lucien was, of course, there.

So was William.

Julian hesitated at the door. William sat in a chair next to Aanu's bed, where Aanu sat listening intently as William spoke. Lucien leaned against the wall, watching.

Apparently, William was teaching Aanu English. Or trying to. From the sound of things, it wasn't going very well.

Silence fell as Julian stepped into the room. Lucien pushed away from the wall and met him at the doorway, waving him back into the hall. "What's up?" Julian asked.

"We're trying to get Aanu up to speed." Lucien laughed a little.

"Not that there's much chance that'll actually happen. But Aanu can use the company."

"Where did William learn ancient Sumerian?"

"Ask him yourself." Lucien's gaze slid sideways, toward him.

Julian tried not to be irritated by Lucien's too-obvious subtext.

"Yeah. I should talk to him."