As the patient stared at her funny, Jane did a quick check of her clothes, wondering if anything was hanging out.

"What," she muttered as she kicked her foot and her pant leg slid back down.

She didn't really have to ask, though. Hard-asses like him usually didn't appreciate women doing the crying thing, but assuming that was the case, he was going to have to suck it up. Anyone would be having trouble in her shoes. Anyone.

Except instead of saying anything about the weakness of weepers in general or of her in particular, he picked the plate of chicken up off the tray and started to eat.

Disgusted with him and the whole situation, she went back to her chair. Losing the razor had taken the starch out of her overt rebellion, and in spite of the fact that she was a fighter by nature, she was resigned to a waiting game. If they were going to kill her outright, they would have; the issue now was the exit. She prayed there was one coming soon. And that it didn't involve a funeral director and a coffee can full of her ashes.

As the patient cut into a thigh, she thought absently that he had beautiful hands.

Okay, now she was disgusted with herself, too. Hell, he'd used them to hold her down and strip her coat off like she was nothing more than a doll. And just because he'd carefully folded what she'd had on afterward didn't make him a hero.

Silence stretched, and the sounds of his silverware softly hitting the plate reminded her of horribly quiet dinners with her parents.

God, those meals eaten in that stuffy Georgian dining room had been painful. Her father had sat at the head of the table like a disapproving king, monitoring the way food was salted and consumed. To Dr. William Rosdale Whitcomb, only meat was to be salted, never vegetables, and as that was his stand on the matter, everyone in the household had had to follow the example. In theory. Jane had been a frequent violator of the no-salt rule, learning how to flick her wrist so she was able to sprinkle her steamed broccoli or boiled beans or grilled zucchini.

She shook her head. After all this time, and his passing, she shouldn't still get pissed off, because what a waste of emotion. Besides, she had other things she should be worried about at the moment, didn't she.

"Ask me," the patient said abruptly.

"About what?"

"Ask me what you want to know." He wiped his mouth, the damask napkin rasping over his goatee and his beard growth. "It'll make my job harder at the end, but at least we won't be sitting here listening to the sound of my silverware."

"What job do you have at the end, exactly?" Please let it not be buying Hefty bags to put her body parts in.

"You aren't interested in what I am?"

"Tell you what, you let me go, and I'll ask you plenty of questions about your race. Until then, I'm slightly distracted with how this happy little vacation on the good ship Holy Shit is going to pan out for me."

"I gave you my word¡ª"

"Yeah, yeah. But you also just manhandled me. And if you say it was for my own good, I'm not going to be responsible for my comeback." Jane looked down at her blunt nails and pushed at her cuticles. After getting her left hand done, she glanced up. "So this 'job' of yours... you going to need a shovel to get it done?"

The patient's eyes dropped to his plate, and he forked at the rice, silver tines slipping in between the grains, penetrating them. "My job... so to speak... is to make sure you won't remember any part of this."

"Second time I've heard that, and I've got to be honest¡ªI think it's bullshit. It's a little hard to imagine me breathing and not, I don't know, recalling with the warm and fuzzies how I was draped over some guy's shoulder, hauled out of my hospital, and drafted as your personal physician. Just how you figure I'm going to forget all of that?"

His diamond-bright irises lifted. "I'm going to take these memories from you. Scrub this whole thing clean. It will be as if I never existed and you were never here."

She rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh, ri¡ª"

Her head started to sting, and with a grimace she put her fingertips to her temples. When she dropped her hands, she looked at the patient and frowned. What the hell? He was eating in his lap, but not from the tray that had been here before. Who'd brought the new food in?

"My buddy with the Sox cap," the patient said as he wiped his mouth. "Remember?"

In a burning rush, it all came back: Red Sox walking in, the patient taking her razor, her tearing up.

"Good... God," Jane whispered.

The patient just kept eating, as if eradicating memories were no more exotic than the roasted chicken he was sucking back.

"How?"

"Neuropathway manipulation. A patch job, as it were."

"How?"

"What do you mean, how?"

"How do you find the memories? How do you differentiate? Do you¡ª"

"My will. Your brain. That is specific enough."

She narrowed her eyes. "Quick question. Does this magical skill with gray matter come with a total lack of compunction for your kind, or is it just you who were born without a conscience?"

He lowered his silverware. "I beg your pardon?"

She so didn't care that he was offended. "First you abduct me, and now you're going to take my memories, and you're not sorry at all, are you? I'm like a lamp you borrowed¡ª"

"I'm trying to protect you," he snapped. "We have enemies, Dr. Whitcomb. The kind who would find out if you knew about us, who would come after you, who would take you to a hidden place and kill you¡ªafter a while. I won't let that happen."

Jane got to her feet. "Listen, Prince Charming, all the protective rhetoric is fine and dandy, but it wouldn't be relevant if you hadn't taken me in the first place."

He dropped his silverware into his food and she braced herself for him to start yelling. Instead, he she quietly, "Look... you were supposed to come with me, okay?"

"Oh. Really. So I had a 'Jack Me Now' sign pinned on my ass that only you could see?"

He put the plate onto the bedside table, shoving it aside as if he were disgusted by the food.

"I get visions," he muttered.

"Visions." When he said nothing further, she thought about the Mr. Eraser trick he'd pulled with her head. If he could do that... Jesus, was he talking about seeing into the future?

Jane swallowed hard. "These visions, they aren't sugarplum-fairy kind of stuff, are they."

"No."

"Shit."

He stroked his goatee, like he was trying to decide exactly how much to tell her. "I used to get them all the time, and then they just dried up. I haven't gotten one... well, I had one of Butch a couple of months ago, and because I followed it I saved his life. So when my brothers came into that hospital room and I had a vision of you, I told them to take you. You talk about conscience? If I didn't have one I would have left you there."

She thought back to him getting aggressive with his nearest and dearest on her behalf. And the fact that even when he'd been stripping her of the razor he'd been careful with her. And then there was him curling up against her, seeking comfort.

It was possible he'd thought he was doing the right thing. It didn't mean she forgave him but... well, it was better than his doing a Patty Hearst with no compunction at all.

After an awkward moment she said, "You should finish that food."

"I'm done."

"No, you're not." She nodded at the plate. "Go on."

"Not hungry."

"I didn't ask if you were hungry. And don't think I won't plug your nose and shovel it in if I have to."

There was a short pause and then he... Jesus... he smiled at her. From the midst of his goatee his mouth lifted at the corners, his eyes crinkling.

Jane's breath stopped in her throat. He was so beautiful like that, she thought, with the dim light of the lamp falling on his hard jaw and his glossy black hair. Even though his long canine teeth were still a little odd, he looked far more... human. Approachable. Desirable¡ª

Oh, no. Not going there. Nope.

Jane ignored the fact that she was blushing a little. "What's up with flashing all those pearly whites? You think I'm joking about the food?"

"No, it's just no one talks to me like that."

"Well, I do. You have a problem with it? You can let me go. Now, eat or I feed you like a baby, and I can't imagine your ego would get off on that."

The little smile was still on his face as he put the plate back on his lap and made slow, steady work of the dinner. When he was done, she went over and picked up the glass of water he'd drained.

She refilled it in the bathroom and brought it back to him. "Drink more."

He did, finishing the whole eight ounces. When he put the glass back on the bedside table, she focused on his mouth and as the scientist in her became fascinated by him.

After a moment he curled his lip off his front teeth. His fangs positively gleamed in the lameplight. Sharp and white.

"They elongate, right?" she asked as she leaned into him. "When you feed, they get longer."

"Yeah." He closed his mouth. "Or when I get aggressive."

"And then they retract when it passes. Open again for me."

When he did, she put her finger to the hard point of one¡ªonly to have his whole body jerk.

"Sorry." She frowned and took her hand back. "Are they sore from the intubation?"

"No." As his lids lowered, she figured it was because he was tired¡ª

God, what was that scent? She breathed in deep and recognized the mix of dark spices that she'd smelled on the towel in his bathroom.

Sex came to mind. The kind that you had when you lost all your inhibitions. The kind you felt for days afterward.

Stop it.

"Every eight weeks or so," he said.

"Excuse me? Oh, is that how often you..."

"Feed. Depends on stress. Activity level, too."

Okay, that totally killed the sex thing. In a gruesome series of Bram Stoker scenes, she imagined him tracking and preying on humans, leaving them chewed raw in alleys.

Clearly her distaste showed, because his voice got hard. "It's natural to us. Not disgusting."

"Do you kill them? The people you hunt?" She braced herself for the answer.

"People? Try vampires. We feed off members of the opposite sex. Of our race, not yours. And there's no killing."

Her brows lifted. "Oh."

"That Dracula myth is such a fucking bore."

Her mind spun with questions. "What's it like? What does it taste like?"

His eyes narrowed, then drifted from her face to her neck. Jane quickly brought her hand to her throat.

"Don't worry," he said roughly. "I'm fed. And besides, human blood doesn't do it for me. Too weak to be of interest."

Okay. Right. Good.

Except, what the hell? Like she wasn't evolutionarily good enough?

Yeah, whoa, she was so totally losing it, and this particular subject matter wasn't helping. "Ah, listen... I want to check your dressing. I wonder if we can even remove it altogether by now."

"Suit yourself."

The patient pushed himself up on the pillows, his massive arms flexing under smooth skin. As the covers fell from his shoulders, she had a moment's pause. He seemed to be getting bigger as he recovered his strength. Bigger and... more sexual.

Her mind shied away from where she was headed with that thought and latched onto the medical issues he faced like they were a lifeboat. With steady, professional hands, she pulled the covers completely from his chest and eased the adhesive tape off the gauze between his pecs. She lifted the bandage and shook her head. Astounding. The only thing marring the skin was the star-shaped scar that had been there before. The residual marks from the operation were reduced to a slight discoloration, and if she extrapolated, she could assume the inside of him was just as well healed.

"Is this typical?" she asked. "This rate of recovery?"

"In the Brotherhood, yes."

Oh, man. If she could study the manner in which his cells regenerated, she might be able to unlock some of the secrets to the aging process in humans.

"Forget it." His jaw set as he shifted his legs off the far side of the bed. "We're not going to be used as lab rats for your kind. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower and have a cigarette." She opened her mouth and he cut her off. "We don't get cancer, so spare me the lecture, okay?"

"You don't get cancer? Why? How does that¡ª"

"Later. I need hot water and nicotine."

She frowned. "I don't want you smoking around me."

"Which is why I'm going to do it in the bathroom. There's an exhaust fan."

As he stood up and the sheet fell from his body, she glanced away fast. A naked man was hardly a new thing for her, but for some reason he struck her as different.

Well, duh. He was six feet, six inches tall and built like a brick shithouse.

As she headed back to her chair and sat down, she heard a shuffling noise, then a thud. She looked up in alarm. The patient was so unsteady on his feet, he'd lost his balance and landed on the wall.

"Do you need help?" Please say no. Please say¡ª

"No."

Thank you, God.

He palmed a lighter and what looked like a hand-rolled cigarette from the bedside table and lurched across the room. From her vantage point in the corner she waited and watched, ready to pull a fireman's hold on him if she needed to.

Yeah, and okay, maybe she watched him for a reason other than wanting to keep him from getting a carpet burn all over that face of his: His back was amazing, the muscles heavy yet elegant as they spanned his shoulders and feathered out from his spine. And his ass was...

Jane covered her eyes and didn't drop her hand until the door shut. After many years in medicine and surgery, she was pretty clear on the "Thou Shalt Not Mack on Your Patients" part of the Hippocratic oath.

Especially if the patient in question had kidnapped you. Christ. Was she really living this?

Moments later the toilet flushed, and she expected to hear the shower come on. When it didn't she figured he was probably having a smoke first¡ª

The door opened and the patient came out, waving like a buoy on the ocean. He grabbed onto the bath's jamb with his gloved hand, his forearm straining.

"Fuck... I'm dizzy."

Jane flipped into full doctor mode and rushed over, putting aside the fact that he was naked and twice her size and that she'd eyed his ass like it was up for sale about two minutes ago. She slipped an arm around his hard waist and tucked herself against his body, bracing her hip for the onslaught. When he leaned on her his weight was tremendous, a load that she barely got over to the bed.

As he stretched out with a curse, she reached across him for the sheets and caught an eyeful of the scars between his legs. Given the way he'd healed up without a trace from her operation, she wondered why those had stuck on his body.

He whipped the covers from her with a quick jerk of the duvet, and the comforter settled over him in a cloud of black. Then he put his arm over his eyes, the thrust of his goateed chin all that showed of his face.

He was ashamed.

In the quiet between them he was... ashamed.

"Would you like me to wash you?"

His breath stopped, and when he was silent for a long time, she expected to be refused. But then his mouth barely moved. "You would do that?"

For a moment she almost replied in earnest. Except then she had the sense that would make his awkwardness worse. "Yeah, well, what can I say, I'm going for sainthood. It's my new life goal."

He smiled a little. "You remind me of Bu¡ªmy best friend."

"You mean Red Sox?"

"Yeah, he's always got the comeback."

"Did you know wit is a sign of intelligence?"

The patient dropped his arm. "I never doubted yours. Not for an instant."

Jane had to catch her breath. There was such respect shining in his eyes, and all she could do as she took it in was curse to herself. There was nothing more attractive to her than when a man was into smart women.

Crap.

Stockholm. Stockholm. Stockholm¡ª

"I would love a bath," he said. Then he tacked on, "Please."

Jane cleared her throat. "Okay. Right."

She went through the medical supply duffels, found a large bedpan, and headed for the bathroom. After she filled the basin full of warm water and grabbed a washcloth, she went back out and set herself up on the bedside table on the left. As she wet the little towel and squeezed off the excess, water chimed through the silent room.

She hesitated. Dipped the washcloth again. Squeezed.

Come on, now, you opened up his chest and went into him. You can do this. No problem.

Just think of him as the hood of a car, nothing but surface area.

"Okay." Jane reached out, put the warm cloth to his upper arm, and the patient flinched. All over. "Too hot?"

"No."

"Then what's with the grimace?"

"Nothing."

Under different circumstances she would have pressed, but she had her own problems. His bicep was damn impressive, his tan skin revealing the very cords of the muscle. The same was true of his heavy shoulder and the slope leading down to his pectoral. He was in sublime physical condition, not an ounce of fat on him, lean as a Thoroughbred, muscular as a lion.

When she crossed the pads of his pecs, she paused at the scar on the left one. The circular mark was embedded in the flesh, as if it had been pounded in.

"Why didn't this heal smoothly?" she asked.

"Salt." He fidgeted as if encouraging her to get on with the bath. "Seals the wound."

"So it was deliberate?"

"Yeah."

She dipped the cloth in the water, wrung it out, and awkwardly leaned over him to reach his other arm. When she drew the cloth downward, he pulled away. "Don't want you near that hand of mine. Even if it's gloved."

"Why is¡ª"

"I'm not talking about it. So don't even ask."

Okaaaay. "It nearly killed one of my nurses, you know."

"I'm not surprised." He glared at the glove. "I'd cut it off if I had the chance."

"I wouldn't advise that."

"Of course you wouldn't. You don't know what it's like to live with this nightmare on the end of your arm¡ª"

"No, I meant I'd have someone else do the cutting if I were you. You're more likely to get the job done that way."

There was a beat of silence; then the patient barked out a laugh. "Smart-ass."

Jane hid the smile that popped up on her face by doing another dip/rinse routine. "Just rendering a medical opinion."

As she swept the washcloth down his stomach, laughter rippled through his chest and belly, his muscles going rock-tight, then releasing. Through the terry cloth she could feel the warmth of his body and sense the potency in his blood.

And suddenly he wasn't laughing anymore. She heard what sounded like a hiss come out of his mouth, and his six-pack flexed, his lower body moving under the bedding.

"That knife wound feeling okay?" she asked.

As he made a noise that sounded like an unconvincing yes, she felt bad. She'd been so concerned about his chest, she hadn't paid much attention to the stabbing issue. Lifting the bandage at his side, she saw that he was fully healed, nothing but a faint pink line showing where he'd been injured.

"I'm taking this off." She peeled the white gauze free, folded it in half, and dropped it into the wastepaper basket. "You're amazing, you know that? The healing you can do is just... yeah."

While rerinsing the washcloth, she debated whether she wanted to head farther south. Like, way south. Like... all the way south. The last thing she needed was more intimate knowledge about how perfect his body was, but she wanted to finish the job... if only to prove to herself that he was no different from any of her other patients.

She could do this.

Except when she went to move the covers lower, he grabbed the duvet and held it in place. "Don't think you're going to want to go there."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." When his lids dropped and he didn't reply, she said in a quiet voice, "I operated on you, so I'm aware that you're partially castrated. I'm not a date, I'm a doctor. I promise that I have no opinion about your body other than what it represents to me clinically."

He winced before he could hide the reaction. "No opinion?"

"Just let me wash you. It's not a big deal."

"Fine." That diamond gaze narrowed. "Suit yourself."

She pulled the sheets away. "There's nothing to be¡ª"

Holy shit... ! The patient was fully erect. Massively erect. Lying straight up his lower belly, stretching from his groin to above his navel, was a spectacular arousal.

"No big deal, remember?" he drawled.

"Ah..." She cleared her throat. "Well... I'm just going to keep going."

"Fine with me."

Trouble was, she couldn't precisely recall what she was supposed to be doing with the washcloth. And she was staring. She was seriously staring.

Which was what you did when you got a gander at a man who was hung like a Louisville Slugger.

Oh, God, did she really just think that?

"Since you've already seen what was done to me," he said in a dry voice, "I can only guess you're checking my navel for lint."

Yeah. Right.

Jane got back with the program, running the cloth down his ribs. "So... how did it happen?"

When he didn't answer, she glanced at his face. His eyes were focused across the room, and they were flat, lifeless. She'd seen that look before in patients who'd been attacked, and knew he was remembering a horror.

"Michael," she murmured, "who hurt you?"

He frowned. "Michael?"

"Not your name?" She took the washcloth back to the bowl. "Why am I not surprised?"

"V."

"I'm sorry?"

"Call me V. Please."

She brought the cloth back to his side. "V it is, then."

She tilted her head and watched her hand rise up his torso, then slide down again. She was stalling, not going lower. Because in spite of his distraction with the ugly past, he was still erect. Totally erect.

Okay, time to get moving downward. Hello, she was an adult. A physician. She'd had a couple of lovers. What she was witnessing was just a biological function that resulted in a pooling of blood in his incredibly large¡ª

That was so not where her thoughts needed to go.

As Jane took the cloth down over his hip, she tried to ignore the fact that he shifted as she went along, his back arching, that heavy arousal on his belly pushing forward, then falling back into place.

The tip of it wept a glossy, tempting tear.

She looked up at him... and froze. His eyes were on her throat, and they were burning with a lust that wasn't just sexual.

Any attraction she might have felt for him disappeared. This was a male of another species, not a man. And he was dangerous.

His stare dropped to her hand in the cloth. "I won't bite you."

"Good, because I don't want you to." This she was clear on. Hell, she was glad he'd looked at her like that, because it had jarred her back to reality. "Listen, not that I want to know personally, but does it hurt?"

"Don't know. Never been bitten myself."

"I thought you said that¡ª"

"I feed off females. But no one has ever fed off me."

"Why?" As his mouth closed up tight, she shrugged. "You might as well tell me. I'm not going to remember anything, right? So what will it cost you to talk?"

As silence stretched, she lost her nerve with his pelvic region and decided to try to work her way up from his feet. Down at the end of the bed, she ran the cloth up his soles then over his toes and he jumped a little like he was ticklish. She moved on to his ankles.

"My father didn't want me to reproduce," the patient said abruptly.

Her eyes shot to his. "What?"

He held up the hand that was gloved, then tapped the temple that had the tattoos around it. "I'm not right. You know, normal. So my father tried to have me fixed like a dog. Of course, there was also the happy correlation of it being one hell of a punishment." As her breath left her on a compassionate sigh, he pointed his forefinger at her. "You show me any pity and I'm going to think twice about the no-bite vow I just gave you."

"No pity. I promise," she lied softly. "But what does that have to do with you drinking from¡ª"

"Just don't like to share."

Himself, she thought. With anyone... except maybe Red Sox.

She gently eased the cloth up his shin. "What were you punished for?"

"Can I call you Jane?"

"Yes." She redipped the cloth and eased it under his calf . As he went silent again, she let him have his privacy. For now.

Under her hand, his knee flexed, the thigh above it contracting and releasing in a sensual flow. Her eyes flicked over his erection and she swallowed hard.

"So do your reproductive systems work the same as ours?" she asked.

"Pretty much."

"Have you had human lovers?"

"I'm not into humans."

She smiled awkwardly. "I won't ask you who you're thinking of now, then."

"Good. I don't think you'd feel comfortable with the answer."

She thought of the way he looked at Red Sox. "Are you gay?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem rather attached to your friend, the guy in the baseball hat."

"You knew him, didn't you. From before, true?"

"Yeah, he looks familiar, but I can't quite place him."

"Would that bother you?"

She ran the towel up his thigh to the cut juncture of his hips, then skirted away. "You being gay? Not at all."

"Because it would make you feel safer, right?"

"And because I'm open-minded. As a physician, I have a pretty good grip on how no matter our preferences, we're all alike on the inside."

Well, the humans at least. She sat down on the bedside and pushed her hand up his leg again. As she got closer to his arousal, his breath caught and the hard length twitched. While his hips swiveled she looked up. He'd bitten down on his lower lip, his fangs cutting into the soft flesh.

Okay, that was really...

None of her business. But, man, he must be running a really hot fantasy about Red Sox right now.

Telling herself this was just a garden-variety sponge-bath situation, and not believing the lie for an instant, she drew her hand over his abdomen, up past the swollen head of him, and down the other side. As the very edge of the washcloth brushed up against his sex, he hissed.

So help her, God, she did it again, going slowly up and around him and letting the erection get stroked just a little.

His hands tightened on the sheets, and in a low rasp he said, "If you keep this up, you're going to find out just how much I have in common with a human man."

Good Christ, she wanted to see him¡ªNo, she didn't.

Yes, she did.

His voice dropped deeper. "Do you want me to orgasm?"

She cleared her throat. "Of course not. That would be¡ª"

"Inappropriate? Who's going to know? Just you and me in here. And frankly, I could use some pleasure right about now."

She closed her eyes. She knew on his side none of this was about her. Plus it wasn't as if she was going to jump on the bed and take advantage of him. But did she really want to know how good he looked as he¡ª

"Jane? Look at me." As if he controlled her eyes, they rose slowly to meet his. "Not my face, Jane. You're going to watch my hand. Now."

She complied, because it didn't occur to her not to. And as soon as she did, his gloved palm released its death grip on the bedcovers and fisted his thick arousal. In a rush, the patient's breath left him, and he ran his hand up and down his shaft, the black leather a stark contrast to the deep pink of his sex.

Oh... my ... God.

"You want to do this to me, don't you?" he said roughly. "Not because you want me. But because you wonder what it feels like and what I look like when I come."

As he kept up with the stroking, she numbed out completely.

"Don't you, Jane." His breathing started to quicken. "You want to know what I feel like. What kind of noises I make. What it smells like."

She wasn't nodding her head, was she? Shit. She was.

"Give me your hand, Jane, Let me put you on me. Even if you're only clinically curious, I want you to finish me off."

"I thought... I thought you don't like humans."

"I don't."

"So what do you think I am?"

"I want your hand, Jane. Now."

She didn't like being told what to do by anyone. Men, women, didn't matter. But when a husky command like that came out of a magnificent male animal like him... especially as he was lying sprawled before for her, fully aroused... it was pretty damn close to undeniable.

She'd resent the order later. But she would follow it now.

Jane put the washcloth in the bedpan and couldn't believe she extended her hand toward him. He took what she offered, took what he'd demanded she give to him, and pulled it forward to his mouth. In a slow, savoring draw, he licked up the center of her palm, his tongue a warm, wet drag. Then he took her flesh and put it to his erection.

They both gasped. He was rock hard and hot as flame and wider than her wrist. As he kicked in her grip, half of her wondered what the hell she was doing and the other half, the sexual part, came alive. Which made her panic. She clamped down on the feelings, using the displacement honed by years of being in medicine... and kept her hand right where it was.

She stroked him, feeling the soft, fine skin move over the stiff core. His mouth broke open as he undulated on the bed, and the arching of his body took her eyes on one hell of a ride. Shit . . . He was pure sex, totally undiluted by inhibitions or awkwardness, nothing but a gathering storm of orgasm.

She looked down at where she was working him. His gloved hand was so damned erotic as it lay right below where she handled him, the fingers lightly touching his base and covering the ridges of scar tissue.

"What do I feel like, Jane?" he said hoarsely. "Do I feel different than a man does to you?"

Yes. Better. "No. You're just the same." Her eyes went to his fangs as they cut into his full lower lip. The teeth looked as if they'd lengthened, and she had a feeling sex and feeding were linked. "Well, you don't look like them, of course."

Something flickered across his face, some kind of shadow, and his hand slipped farther down between his legs. At first she assumed he was rubbing what hung below, but then she realized he was shielding himself from her eyes.

A lick of pain went off in her chest like a match strike, but then he moaned low in his throat and his head kicked back, his blue-black hair feathering over the black pillow. As his hips flexed upward, his stomach muscles tightened in a sequential rush, the tattoos at his groin stretching and returning to position.

"Faster, Jane. You're going to do it faster for me now."

One of his legs shifted up and his ribs began to pump hard. Across his luscious, fluid skin, a flush of sweat gleamed in the dim lamplight. He was getting close... and the closer he got, the more she realized she was doing this because she wanted to. The clinical-curiosity thing was a lie: He fascinated her for different reasons.

She kept pumping him, focusing the friction at his plum-sized head.

"Don't stop... Fuck..." He drew the word out, his shoulders and neck straining, his pecs tightening as they threw sharp edges.

Suddenly, his eyes flipped open and glowed bright as stars.

Then he bared fangs that had fully dropped and shouted his release. As he came, he stared at her neck, and the orgasm went on and on until she wondered if he'd had two. Or more. God... he was spectacular, and in the midst of his pleasure that glorious scent of dark spice filled the room until she breathed it instead of air.

When he was still, she released him and used the hand towel to clean his belly and chest off. She didn't linger on him. Instead she got to her feet and wished she could have some time to herself.

He watched her through low lids. "See," he said gruffly, "just the same."

Not by a long shot. "Yes."

He pulled the duvet over his hips and closed his eyes. "Use the shower if you want."

In an uncoordinated rush, Jane took the bedpan and the washcloth to the bath. Propping her hands against the sink, she thought maybe some hot water and something other than scrubs on her back would clear her head¡ªbecause right now all she could see was what he'd looked like coming all over her hand and himself.

Overwhelmed, she went back out into the bedroom, got some of her things from the smaller duffel, and reminded herself that this situation was not real, not part of her reality. It was a hiccup, a tangle in the thread of her life, like her destiny had the flu.

This was not real.

After he finished with class, Phury went back to his room and changed from his teaching clothes of a black silk shirt and cream cashmere trousers into his fighting leathers. Technically he was supposed to be off tonight, but with V flat on his back they needed an extra set of hands.

Which worked for him. Better to be out on the streets hunting than getting involved in that sitch with Z and Bella and the pregnancy.

He strapped on his chest holster, slid two daggers in, handles down, and popped a SIG Sauer on each hip. On his way to the door he pulled on his leather coat and patted the inner pocket, making sure he had a couple of blunts and a lighter with him.

As he hit the grand staircase at a fast clip, he prayed no one saw him... and got busted just before he made it out of the house. Bella called his name as he stepped into the vestibule, and the sound of her shoes crossing the foyer's mosaic floor meant he had to stop.

"You weren't at First Meal," she said.

"I was teaching." He glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see she looked good, her coloring bright, her eyes clear.

"Have you eaten at all?"

"Yes," he said, lying.

"Okay... well... shouldn't you wait for Rhage?"

"We'll meet up later."

"Phury, are you okay?"

He told himself it was not his place to say anything. He'd already closed that door with his pep talk to Z. This was totally none of his¡ª

As always with her, he had no self-control. "I think you need to talk to Z."

Her head eased to one side, her hair falling farther down her shoulder. God, it was lovely. So dark, yet not black. It reminded him of fine mahogany that had been carefully varnished, glowing with reds and deep browns.

"About what?"

Shit, he so shouldn't be doing this. "If you're keeping something from Z, anything... you need to tell him."

Her eyes narrowed, then slid away, as she changed her stance, her weight shifting from one foot to the other, her arms crossing over her chest. "I... ah, I won't ask how you know, but I can assume it's because he does. Oh... damn it. I was going to talk to him after I see Havers tonight. I made an appointment."

"How bad is it? The bleeding?"

"Not bad. That's why I wasn't going to say anything until I went to Havers. God, Phury, you know Z. He's nervous as hell about me already, so preoccupied I'm terrified he'll be distracted in the field and get himself hurt."

"Yeah, but see, it's worse now, because he doesn't know what's going on. Talk to him. You have to. He'll be tight. For you he'll stay tight."

"Was he angry?"

"Maybe a little. But more than that he's just worried. He's not stupid. He knows why you wouldn't want to tell him anything was wrong. Look, take him with you tonight, okay? Let him be there."

Her eyes watered a little. "You're right. I know you're right. I just want to protect him."

"Which is exactly the way he feels about you. Take him with you."

In the silence that followed, he knew the indecision in her eyes was hers to contend with. He'd said his piece.

"Be well, Bella."

As he turned away, she grabbed his hand. "Thank you. For not being upset with me."

For a moment he pretended that it was his young inside of her and that he could gather her close and go with her to the doctor's and hold her afterward.

Phury gently took her wrist and pulled her free of him, her hand slipping off his skin on a soft brush that stung like barbs. "You are my twin's beloved. I could never be angry at you."

As he walked out through the vestibule and into the cold, windy night, he thought how true it was that he could never be pissed with her. Himself, on the other hand? Not a problem.

Dematerializing downtown, he knew that he was heading for a collision of some kind. He didn't know where the wall was or what it was made of or whether he was going to drive himself into it or get thrown at it by someone or something else.

But the wall was waiting in the bitter darkness. And part of him wondered whether there wasn't a big, fat H painted on it.