"Han, get me some warm water and washcloths. I'll clean her up."

She didn't miss the surprised look on Han's face. He obeyed. D disappeared into the bathroom adjoining her room and washed his hands. When he returned, he pulled a chair from the wall nearer her and dipped one cloth in water, tugging her arm away from her.

"I can do it," she said, resisting.

He gave her a look that said he didn't have all the patience in the world then pulled her arm free again.

"Han, bring up some food," he said without turning to look at the blond man in the doorway.

Han disappeared.

Sofia was afraid to ask where she was, who the man was before her. Instead, she watched a man many, many times her strength gently clean the blood from her arm in unhurried, methodical strokes. His touch sent a tremor of fire through her, and she was embarrassed to feel her hormones stir.

Here she sat, covered in blood, drugged, one day from being all out crazy, then kidnapped-and the sight of the man before her turned her on. What was wrong with her?

He was the sexiest man she'd ever seen, and the swirling aura of command only amplified his physical appeal. It didn't take much for her to imagine what the body beneath the tight shirt was like. Wide shoulders, chiseled chest, rippling abs ... even his scent-of pure man mixed with the mystery of night-lured her like an animal falling for a hunter's bait. His attraction was inhuman.

"You okay?" he asked, his quiet, gravelly voice making her heart quicken. He glanced up at her, amusement in the upturned corner of his full lips.

She met his gaze with a nod, and they looked at each other until her face flushed. She cleared her throat and looked down. The wound on her arm was gone. She pulled her arm from his grip and stared at it, twisting it left and right before lowering it.

In fact, she felt no pain at all, anywhere. She kicked out her wounded leg. It, too, was healed. All that was left was to clean the blood.

"I'm going crazy," she said, voice tightening. "Oh God, I'm going crazy!" Her vision blurred with tears, and she stood precariously.

"You're not so good on your feet yet," D said.

She felt his arms around her and leaned into him, surprised at how natural it felt to be held against a complete stranger who made her want to flee for the hills and strip naked at the same time.

"You're not going crazy," he assured her. "When you're well, we'll talk."

"You know what's wrong with me."

"Yes."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Damian Bylun. If I'm not mistaken, you called me for help." His warm chest vibrated against her cheek as he chuckled.

Suddenly, she wasn't so sure she wanted his help. Damian Bylun was not a doctor. Hell, she had serious doubts he was even human. She didn't know what he was, and she had a feeling he'd welcomed her into a world that belonged solely to him.

God help me.

Damian wasn't sure how someone going from the second to first floor had managed to get bloody enough to look like she crawled through a war zone. Most women were too intimidated to go near him, let alone get close enough to throw their arms around him. This one clung to him as if he were the only thing preventing her from being swept overboard. He'd watched her thoughts of him naked, flattered and turned on. It'd been too long since a normal woman overcame his first impression.

Of course, this was no normal woman. He reflected on the images in her mind when Jake touched her. The instincts of the newly minted spy were dead on. She was the greatest find since he'd taken over the war from his slain brother.

He tried to move away, unaccustomed to anyone touching him. She tightened her grip around him, and he was amused to think of himself as any sort of comfort to anyone, let alone a little human like her. He hadn't held a woman in too long, and he'd never held one for the sole purpose of comforting her. She needed him. He was surprised to realize he liked the feeling.

Damian breathed in her scent, brutally aware that all that lay between her tight little body and him was a long T-shirt. He'd never been mistaken for a gentleman, but the woman shimmered with a sweet, pure aura that made him feel obliged to behave. Her turquoise eyes had been so lost and confused, he couldn't help but take pity on her.

Her eyes shimmered with more than tears-they swirled with silver, the way the eyes of ancient Oracles did. He hadn't seen anything like her since he sat in his father's court as a child.

"You're safe," he told her.

She sighed. With her large, two-toned eyes, flawless skin, and long, straw-colored hair, she resembled a doll. Hers was a cool beauty, and her gaze bespoke intelligence. That she was an Oracle was fantastic. A sexy Oracle? Nothing short of miraculous!

"She okay?" Han asked from the doorway. Damian heard the amusement in his voice. None of his men had ever seen a human woman throw herself into his arms. His own Guardians stayed out of arm's reach of him, and humans picked up and ran.

"Yeah, I think so," he said, drawing away. To his surprise, she'd passed out. He scooped her up and placed her on the bed, his gaze sweeping over her tiny, shapely frame. He felt unusually protective of the vulnerable human on the bed before him. Not sure what to make of her or what he felt, he led Han out and closed the door.

"I think I know the answer, but do we have any records that survived the Schism?" Damian asked, moving away from the door.

"Is she okay?" Jake asked anxiously.

"Kid, back off," Han warned.

Jake obeyed and darted to the bottom of the stairs, pacing.

"Not that I know of," Han answered. "There aren't any living Oracles to mentor her, either. Claire was the closest thing, but she never received the training because her power was too weak."

"That could be an issue," Damian said, gaze returning to the door he'd just left. "I don't know shit about training Oracles."

"I don't think anyone living does, except maybe Czerno. He knew enough to find her and plot to bind her to him."

The idea of something so sweet in Czerno's depraved hold irked him. He wouldn't let someone like her get stuck in the middle of their war.

"Most Oracles don't live long enough to be of use," Han added. "Or they're terrible."

Not this one. He felt it in his bones, just as he'd felt a soul-deep connection to her the moment he'd touched her. He pulled out his cell to text his confidants.

U still online? he typed.

Both Dusty and Jule responded with smiley faces.

B on in a sec.

"Han, until I let you go back to war, you'll be her bodyguard. She knows Jake. If he doesn't drive her as crazy as he does me, divvy up shifts with him," he said. "She's gonna have a rough time ahead of her."

"Most Naturals get a little more notice before transforming. I think she's already started?"

"Yeah, and she knows shit about us or what she is." Damian felt the unusual urge to look in on her again, to feel her soft skin against him once more and make sure she was safe. Shaking his head, he retreated to his office. He picked up the headphone-mic combo. "Either of you know anything about Oracles?"

Fuck no, typed Dusty.

"Nope," Jule seconded. "We were just discussing HQ. You having any issues?"

"You mean, like an influx of vamps to Tucson?"

Bingo.

"Yeah. If Dusty doesn't object, I might reorganize the southwest sectors. Something is up."

Do whatever you want. You always do, Dusty typed with another string of angry emoticons.

"Damn, Dusty, you're a jackass today," Jule said, amused. "You sure you don't have a woman plaguing you?"

Damian smiled, waiting for Dusty's response. He could guess what Dusty was pissed about, and it didn't have anything to do with women or rearranging his sectors.

Today's my birthday, dick. You forgot again.

"Oooooooohhh," Jule breathed. "Another birthday? Not sure why you'd count at this point."

"I remembered," Damian said promptly. "You'd think after oh, a few thousand years, you'd remember, Jule."

"I'm sorry, Dusty. I owe you one," Jule said, chagrined.

No, you owe me about thirty. Thousand. It's not every day your little brother turns 300K.

"I forgot you're still a baby. I passed that mark a few hundred thousand years ago. I'll send you this video game I'm addicted to," Jule offered. "You might like it."

If you love me, you'll send me the blu-ray versions of the Blue Collar Comedy Tour.

"Ah, my love, your wish is my command."

Damian chuckled. At more than double both their ages, Jule was as old as the Watchers, exiled to earth after pissing off someone somewhere in the immortal world just before the Schism. He'd never said why, and Damian didn't ask.

"You happy, Dust-man?" he asked.

Yes.

Han knocked, and he looked up.

"Rainy from the Tucson Sector is here. They're having issues," Han said.

"Gotta go, boys," Damian said. "We'll chat tomorrow."

He pulled off the headphone-mic combo and rose. Ruling an empire wasn't getting any easier; he rarely had a minute to himself anymore.

"Let's go," he said to Han.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Northern Virginia, The Black God's summer retreat Two rolled from his place on the concrete floor in the corner and unwrapped the ratty blanket he used to keep himself warm. His skin was cold to the touch; his breath hung in the air as he moved. His master didn't believe a slave deserved heat. He dressed himself mechanically and deliberately, hiding away the scarred body his master hated. Every day he awoke wondering what happened to him, but he remembered nothing beyond waking up the day before. The scars covering him from head to toe were from more than his master's beatings. They were too deep and knotted to be from the daggers or the whip or the hand strikes of his master and his master's men.

Pants, socks, shoes. T-shirt, sweater, gloves. He made a rhyme out of the process, though he'd forgotten it again this morning. He put on his hood last and tucked its edges into his sweater. Above all, his master hated his scarred face. He flew into an abusive rage when he saw it.

He left the basement and entered the heated first floor. It was time for his master's breakfast, so he went to the kitchens to fetch his food. The cook was afraid of him and left everything in one corner. He took his bread and canteen of water-the morning sustenance for a slave-and tucked them into a cargo pocket. He lifted his master's tray. It held breakfast for two, and he racked his mind for who the other was. He couldn't remember-he never did. He climbed the steps to his master's chamber and knocked.

"Come in, Two," his master replied.

He obeyed. The air of the dark bedroom smelled of sex and blood. He opened the windows, which did little to shed light into the stone room with its masculine, black decor.

"It's so creepy," a woman's voice complained.

When he turned to place their breakfast on the table near the patio, he thought he recognized her. Maybe when she came in. He must have seen her then. His master said a slave didn't need to remember anything but his master, and he didn't try too hard to remember her.

His master emerged from the bed, naked. His hair was silver, his body broad-shouldered and muscular. His visitor wore a T-shirt and had hair the color of last night's sunset.

"I don't know why you bother with it," she said in disdain, looking at Two the way his master did.

"Your breakfast is served," Two said automatically.

"I see that, you fucking idiot," his master said and slapped him.

Two took his place in the corner, where he stood all day, no matter which room his master was in, in case his master needed him.

"Now that you're here, my lovely Claire, you can help me nail that son of a bitch for good," his master said. "Between you and the Oracle, there's no stopping me."

"Anything for you," she said.

They looked at each other. His master glanced over to make sure Two was in his assigned corner, and then pulled off the visitor's clothing.

"I want him to watch," his master said, "while I fuck you every way I know how."

His woman laughed huskily and approached Two naked. Her body was beautiful, curvy, with large breasts. He thought he remembered seeing her naked before, maybe when she arrived last night. He didn't know for sure.

"This is for you," she said and returned to his master.

Two watched them tumble into bed and fuck for hours, wondered why she seemed so familiar, before deciding his master was right-slaves were too stupid to remember.

Sofia tried to focus on flipping through a magazine. The mansion's heavy drapes on the ground floor were closed and the lighting in the library dim enough for her to tolerate. She'd roamed the ground floor before adopting the library as her favorite room and settling in front of a deadened hearth with a stack of celebrity magazines.

The monster in the corner of her mind was a man, shrouded in darkness. He wasn't a nightmare or vision-this much she knew. Since her dream, she'd heard him even when she was awake. His crying and shifting distracted her from the strange world around her and made her head pulse, as if he were trying to pry his way into her unwilling mind.

"You're still pissed at me?" Jake asked from his seat nearby. "I brought you here, didn't I?"

She gave him a withering look, wondering what crack he was smoking to think he did her any favor by bringing her here instead of to a hospital. He'd followed her around all morning, and she was sick of him.

"Come on, Sofi, I'm trying to help you."

"Okay, fine," she said, tossing the magazine. "Tell me where I am, why I'm here, and what's wrong with me."