She was a fool. She must be, to be here with him like this. Even with the remorse flooding his mind, he was aware of her. His body ached to join with hers once more, to find that blissful release that had nearly shattered the ice coating his heart. Just looking at her hands reminded him of how they'd felt stroking his arousal; like silk and firm and strong. So strong. The sight of her lips elicited the memory of the heat and moisture he'd found beyond them, the taste of her tongue. Beneath the thin silk blouse, she wore nothing. He found himself wondering if the brush of the fabric over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s would arouse her nipples to the hard tautness of pebbles, and if it did, whether he could stop himself from tearing it off her, and sucking at them until she begged him to stop.

She wore tight-fitting denims, d.a.m.n her. They were pressed as snugly between her silken thighs as his body had been. He wanted to put his face into her lap and inhale her bittersweet fragrance. He wanted to taste her again, to become drunk on her own potent brand of spirits.

"Roland." Her voice was but a whisper. He saw her hand reaching up to him, and he took it. She tugged until he sat beside her against the tree trunk. "Tell me," she urged again.

He nodded. "The tale is not a pleasant one, Rhiannon." Roland drew one bracing breath and prepared himself for her reactions. "After the battle of which I told you, I longed only to return home. To put aside my sword and my l.u.s.t for violence forever." He paused, looking for a long moment into her fathomless eyes. She would, no doubt, detest him when he'd finished the tale. All the better. Perhaps she'd finally get some sense and leave him alone for good.

"But when I did, it was to find my father's enemies at the castle. The Baron Rosbrook and his clan had taken it." He closed his eyes at the memory. The first sight to welcome him upon returning home had been the crumbled outer wall, then the charred, blackened section of the castle that had been burned.

Rhiannon's hand touched his face. "Your family?"

"Murdered." The single word carried little emphasis. But words could not describe what he'd felt that day. Looking like a man, but with the fears and the heart of a boy, he'd crossed the barren courtyard in time to see them cut his father's limp body down from the gallows, and toss it atop the others in a rickety wagon. He'd stood motionless, unable to believe that what he saw was real as the wagon clattered past him, and beneath the raised portcullis. Like a man entranced, he'd turned and followed, until the wagon stopped near the lip of a steep embankment. And one by one, the bodies had been flung over the side.

He began to tremble again, just as he had then. He wanted to shut out the memory, as he'd wanted to turn his eyes away from the heartrending sight all those years ago. And just as before, he was unable to do so. His father, his brothers, were tossed like refuse, their bodies rolling and tumbling to the very bottom of the rocky ravine. Other knights, stripped of their armor, some with the horrendous wounds of battle marring their flesh, others with no sign of injury save the telling fluid movement of their heads on boneless necks, tossed away without a prayer or a tear shed for them. Then the women. The first charred corpse was unrecognizable, until he'd glimpsed one unburned corner of the gown. His mother's gown.

"My G.o.d, Roland." Rhiannon's voice was choked, and she clutched his shoulders in her hands. She'd been inside his mind, he realized dully. She'd relived those moments of his long ago homecoming right along with him. "I had no idea," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"So am I, Rhiannon. Had I been at home, where I belonged, I might have prevented it."

"How." Roland, you were a boy, a boy with no knightly training when you left home. What might you have done, other than be killed yourself?"

He looked into her upturned face, and shook his head as he battled a rash of childish tears and a fierce burning in his throat. "I'll never know, will I?" He managed to swallow past the lump, and blink the blurring moisture from his eyes. "Unfortunately, I had left. I had been trained. I'd been in battle, and gained a reputation as a fierce fighter, thanks to Gareth's family. There may have been nothing I could do before the fact. But afterward--"

"If the murder of Gareth enraged you, the murder of your family and the taking of your home must have been far worse."

He nodded, remembering, experiencing it all again as he relived it for her. "It happened in an instant. I went from paralyzing shock, and unspeakable grief, to rage and a thirst for revenge that drove me close to madness. It took weeks, but I gathered an army. Some were friends of my father's. Most were knights in the employ of Gareth's family. They aided me as a matter of honor. I had avenged Gareth and their fellow knights, so they would help me to avenge my family."

"And?"

He looked into her eyes, wishing he didn't have to go on. But he did. He couldn't have stopped himself from telling her all of it now, had he wanted to. "By my command, they gave no quarter, nor did I. Some of the Rosbrooks escaped the blade, but most died by it. Until only one remained. A younger daughter, no older than I."

He saw Rhiannon close her eyes, and a.s.sumed she was dreading what came next. "Her name was Rebecca, and she had the face of an angel. Silvery blond curls, huge f blue eyes. She was an innocent. I ordered her thrown into the dungeons."

She released her breath all at once.

"Why are you relieved, Rhiannon? Because I didn't kill her outright? It would have been better if I had."

She shook her head. "I know you, Roland. After a few days, you must have realized that her father's sins were not hers, and released her."

"Released her?" He almost laughed. "No, Rhiannon. You don't know me at all. But you are partly right. In time, I regretted that she should suffer for what her father had done. I removed her from the dungeons and put her into a bedchamber on the third level. I intended to return her to her relatives, until I learned she had none left. The girl, of course, detested me for what I'd done, just as I had detested her family for the murder of mine."

"What became of her, Roland?"

He removed Rhiannon's hands from his shoulders, folded them into her lap and covered them with one of his own. He searched her face, waiting for the condemnation he was certain would appear there soon. "I decided the best I could do for her would be to wed her. To keep her in the castle and try to right the wrong I'd done by making her my bride, sharing with her my wealth and my name."

Rhiannon blinked. "Did you... did you love her?"

"Love is an emotion of which I am not capable, Rhiannon. Nor have I ever been, even then. Does an animal feel love?"

She parted her lips, then bit them. "What did she say to your proposal?"

"It was not a proposal. It was a command. She could marry me or return to the dungeons permanently."

She didn't flinch from his steady gaze. "Which did she choose?"

"Neither. She flung herself from the tower."

"Oh, G.o.d." Rhiannon closed her eyes, and he noted the appearance of moisture on her thick lashes.

"So, now you know." He let his chin fall to his chest. A second later, he felt her fingers threading through his hair. That she could bear to touch him at all now, amazed him. That she did so with such tenderness was beyond comprehension.

He lifted his head, and met her damp gaze. "I swear, I didn't intend to hurt you, Rhiannon. I simply lost my senses. I allowed the violent nature that is truly me, to take control. I'm more sorry than you can imagine."

"I know. As I know you were sorry after the girl's death, and more than likely, after every battle you ever fought from then on."

He shook his head. "I became a mercenary knight, a hired fighter. I left the castle in the hands of caretakers. I couldn't bear to be here, with the memories of my past mistakes haunting me in every hall."

"Ah, but now you alter the tale, Roland. For I knew of you long before you knew of me. The gallant knight who fought for a price, but always on the side of the weak, and always on the side of the just. I knew you were one of The Chosen, Roland. I was fascinated by you."

He frowned, not believing her.

"It's true," she said. "It was years after your knighting, of course, and I knew nothing of what horrors befallen you in your youth. I heard tales of your valor I tracked you down. For some time, I followed you your men. G.o.d, what it did to me to see you leading them astride that magnificent black war-horse with the eyes seemed to blaze. To witness you in battle was worse yet. The gleaming armor, the powerful way you would wield that sword, your fearlessness."

"You saw me fight?"

She nodded. "The battle at Lorraine, at midnight fought to free the kidnapped Lady la Claire. And the in Normandy, when you helped the fallen men from field, friend and foe alike. So I know you exaggerate battle l.u.s.t you claim."

He felt his jaw go slack. "Rhiannon, why did you n tell me this?"

She shrugged. "I was afraid you'd laugh at me. An immortal vampiress, smitten by a man she'd never met. But I was, you know. I wanted to come to you, even then. Never had I seen a man so strong, or so brave. I was enamored of you, Roland. Then, you heard of Bryan, Gareth's young son, that same babe you'd rescued from the wolf, a man grown by then. He was in dire need, and you rushed to his aid."

Roland nodded. "Yes. His castle was under siege he couldn't withstand the attackers much longer. A messenger managed to slip out, and brought word to me."

"And you went there, knowing full well you were short on men, and still exhausted from the last skirmish. With little food, and weapons in need of repair, you went. By night, you went, so I was able to follow, and to watch."

He nodded. "The enemy outnumbered us ten to one," he said, recalling his shock as he'd peered at them from the cover of the forest.

"And you attacked them all the same, but only after releasing any of your men who wished to leave. Few did, as I recall. That battle was the fiercest I had ever seen, Roland. I was terrified for you. You managed to rout the invaders, but in the end, you were cut down. I found you lying in the dirt, near death. You remember?"

He nodded, recalling vividly his first glimpse of her. A mysterious, utterly beautiful lady in a flowing black gown, leaning over him, whispering that he would live, that she would not allow him to die. He remembered her tears, raining down on his face, and the way their moist warmth transcended his pain.

"Of course, I remember. I was dying. It was then you transformed me."

"Knowing full well you were worthy of the gift. More worthy than any of us, perhaps. Yet you spend eternity grieving over past mistakes and condemning yourself for a pa.s.sionate nature."

Roland stood, and gazed upward at the stars. "You call it pa.s.sion. I call it evil."

She was on her feet, at his side before he was aware she'd moved. She had a talent for that, moving soundlessly, as if floating. She stood before him and lifted her soft palms to cup his face. She drew it down, so he was gazing into her eyes, rather than at the starry night. Of the two, he thought, her eyes were the most lovely, the most brilliant.

"It is time for you to let the past die."

He felt his heart contract painfully in his chest. "I cannot."

"Yes, you can. There is so much for you here, in the present. So much you deny yourself. So much you could take and savor--"

"There is nothing, Rhiannon."

"There is Jamey."

He released a ragged breath, though the pain inside only grew sharper. "Yes, there is Jamey. I've been giving him a lot of thought these past days."

Her hands fell from his face, and settled upon his shoulders.

"I'm beginning to think you were right. The boy may be better off with his natural father. He needs a normal life, not one filled with danger and immortal beings. He ought to live in a suburban house, not a crumbling ruin."

She drew a thoughtful breath. "You'll still need to watch over him, even if you are able to locate his father. And there is always a chance..." She bit her lip and her eyes filled suddenly. Roland felt her wince inwardly in pain, and wondered at it. "A chance that his father will not want him," she finished. Her hands fell to her sides, and she averted her face.

"Rhiannon, what--"

"And even without the boy, you have your friends. Eric and Tamara adore you, Roland."

"They have each other." He shook his head. He couldn't tell her how terribly lonely he felt when he had to witness their happiness. It only exaggerated his own isolation.

"What about me, then?" She faced him again, gripped both his hands in hers. "Don't tell me you didn't forget all that pain when you made love to me. Don't say you didn't feel the same sheer joy of being alive, that you made me feel."

He closed his eyes. "I did not make love to you. I a.s.saulted you."

She drew his hands toward her, pulling them around her to the small of her back. Then she left them there, to slip her arms around his neck and press her body to his. "Perhaps you will get it right the next time, then."

He didn't push her away. He couldn't. Staring down into the endless pools of her eyes, he simply couldn't. "There cannot be a next time, Rhiannon."

"There can. There will." She pressed her lips to his, parted them, swept her tongue into his mouth.

Summoning every ounce of his faltering control, he released her and turned away. "No."

"But Roland, I--"

"No, Rhiannon. You still don't comprehend it, do you?" He shoved his hands roughly through his hair. "There is so much in you that reminds me of who I once was. The impulsiveness, the pa.s.sion, the way you laugh in the face of danger. Dammit, Rhiannon, it is never as hard for me to control my nature as when I am with you. Your very presence stirs in my soul the qualities I constantly fight to suppress."

She said nothing. He couldn't turn to face her. Looking at her would only tempt him anew to give in to the beast. It was ironic that the one thing he wanted most in this world was the thing that he must deny himself. It was almost as if the G.o.ds were laughing at him, dangling this prize before him just to see him pay for his sins. "Sometimes, Rhiannon, I believe you are my punishment. My curse."

He turned then, and stopped dead. The pain in her eyes was such as he'd never before seen. Yet they remained dry. Wide, and hurting, but utterly dry. Without a word, she turned and walked away, toward the wrought-iron gate. Her rapid pace was brought up short, though, when it Eric appeared just beyond it, emerging from the mist like a ghost.

"Rhiannon, thank G.o.d I've found you. Is Roland--"

"Here, Eric," Roland called. He moved forward, glancing at Rhiannon's stricken face. He'd hurt her again. Severely this time. He felt it as surely as he felt the river-moistened breeze on his face, and he had no idea how, or even if, he could remedy it.

"Excuse me," she muttered, then staggered away into the densest part of the woods.

Roland took a step to go after her, but Eric's hand on his shoulder stopped him. In the distance, he heard Rhiannon retching violently. He shook Eric's hand away and again began to go after her.

"Dammit, Roland, listen to me. Jamey is gone."

Roland halted on the dark path, his lower legs swathed in mist, fiver-damp air filling his lungs. An icy hand closed around his chest. He turned. "Gone? What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"He's left. Run off." Eric fished in his pocket, and pressed a folded sheet of paper into Roland's hand. "We found this in his room."

Roland glanced again in the direction Rhiannon had gone. He heard nothing now. He sent the probing fingers of his mind out to hers, but found it closed to him.

"I'll go," Eric said softly. "Read the d.a.m.ned note and meet me back at the castle."

Roland watched him go, then smoothed the note open with hands that were not steady, and read;

Dear Tamara, I have to leave. Please don't try to find me. I'm a man now, and I can take care of myself. But as long as I am with Roland, he'll think he has to take care of me. Now everything is happening like it did before. Curtis is back. DPI is driving everyone crazy, all because of me. It was my fault Rhiannon got knifed at the match. And I know it was my fault she got hurt again last night. I heard you and Eric talking. I don't know what happened, only that Roland hurt her somehow, and that it was because of that stupid drug he's been taking to keep him awake. He wouldn't have been taking it if it hadn't been for me. He shouldn't have. Even I know better than to mess with drugs that way.

Tell Eric to lay off on the chemicals. He's always trying to change what he is, what all of you are. Tell him I think you're about as close to perfect as you can get. Better than any of the normal people I know, except my mom.

Don't worry about the DPI guys catching up with me. I'm not stupid. I know how to be careful. I'll write to you when I figure out where I want to stay, and get my life together, just so you'll see that I'm okay.

I really love you guys. All of you, but especially you, Tam. You've been like an older sister to me. I'll miss you, but I have to do this. Try to understand.

Love, Jamey

Roland closed his eyes slowly, and crumpled the sheet in his fist. "d.a.m.n."

She stiffened at the approaching steps, but it was only Eric. She swallowed the bitter bile in her throat and schooled her face into an emotionless mask. Not for anything in the world would Eric see that her heart had been torn to shreds. He'd only report the fact to Roland. She would die before she'd let him know how much he'd hurt her.

His curse. Perhaps he was right, at that. She'd been her father's curse, and now Roland's. Rejected by the only two men in the world from whom she'd craved acceptance. Shut out by the only two men she'd ever loved.

Loved?

Posh, she didn't love Roland. She wasn't foolish enough to have allowed her heart to become involved in what was purely a physical attraction. She'd loved once, and once only. She'd loved her father, and his disdain had taught her well never to love again.

She lifted her gaze to watch Eric's hasty approach. She waited until he reached her.

"Are you all right?"

She lifted her palms up and glanced down at her own form. "I seem to be, don't I?"