"I will leave," he told his reflection as he checked the master bathroom a third time. "I will go back to Cyprien. He will know what to do with me."

If his friend was smart, he would kill him. If he did not, Thierry thought he might be up to the task himself. The bitterness inside him was like drinking the blood of the dead. He would rather go quickly than die of despair.

He left the Nelsons' home, and stood in the snow for a time. The lights of Shaw House came over the wall and made patterns on it. He walked around them, reluctant even to touch the light coming from her windows. He was finished now, and he would stop behaving like a madman. He would contact Valentin Jaus and ask him to watch over Jema. Jaus had fought with him in many battles. He was an honorable man, and—

Thierry frowned as he saw the subject of his thoughts walking up the back lawn of Jema's property. He thought he must be mistaken, but then he heard Jaus's voice as he spoke to the maid at the door.

What was the suzerain of Chicago doing here?

Thierry jumped the wall and crept along the side of the house. From the sounds of the voices, Jema, Bradford, the mother, and Jaus were gathered in the front sitting room. Thierry went to the window and stood beside it, listening.

"I thank you for the invitation, but I have already… dined," Jaus was saying. "I came merely to deliver your costume for the masque tomorrow night."

"You didn't have to bring it over yourself." That was Jema. There was a small stretch of silence. "Oh, Mr. Jaus. It's beautiful."

Why was Jaus giving his Jema beautiful things?

"I had hoped you would find it so." Jaus sounded pleased.

As Jaus and Jema exchanged pleasantries, Thierry's bewilderment turned to suspicion. He knew the Austrian well. Jaus would never meddle with a human woman unless it served some ulterior motive. Why would he invite Jema to a masque? Why would he provide a costume? How did they know each other?

Thierry tracked Jaus from the house as soon as he left it, and discovered that Jaus occupied the house on the other side of the Shaw property. He assessed the compound, noted the Kyn guards stationed at every possible entrance and exit, and then slipped away before he was spotted.

Incredible as it seemed, Valentin Jaus appeared to be Jema's neighbor.

Thierry was bleakly amused to learn this. Here he had come to escape detection and capture by the Kyn, and the whole time the Kyn had been within a stone's throw of his hiding place.

The lights from Shaw House slowly went out, one by one. Thierry stayed in the shadows by the wall and paced, sorting out what he had discovered. With Jaus so near, Jema would be safe. He had only to call the suzerain and warn him about the attempt on her life.

When he saw the light disappear from Jema's bedroom window, Thierry knew it was a sign for him to go. She was in bed now, safe, soon to sleep and dream. Would it be a relief for her not to dream of him tonight?

He was climbing up to her balcony before he could think of what he was doing.

I will go to say good-bye, he promised himself as he swung up onto the balcony. I will not disturb her or touch her. I will only look upon her. He could leave, he thought, if he could see her one more time. One more image to carry with him, to last on the journey back to New Orleans, and what waited for him there.

He did not dare reach into her sleeping mind to see if she was asleep, but looked through the window. The light was out, but he could still see her form under the quilt. She did not move.

He waited, counting the minutes as he watched. Five minutes. Ten. She never moved once. She had to be asleep.

Go, quickly.

Thierry slipped the lock on her window with his dagger and stepped inside. The familiar scent of her drifted around him, stronger than it had been on the other nights. He closed the window behind him and breathed in, filling himself with her warm, sweet smell. He wished he could wear this on his skin, like his lady's colors, but it could only be another memory to cherish.

The light in the room snapped on.

Thierry looked at Jema, who was still sleeping. The door was closed.

"I'm over here."

He turned to see Jema standing by the wall switch on the opposite side of the room. At once he whirled around.

"Stay. Please."

His hand shook, and he pressed it against the glass. "I cannot."

"You stayed before when you came to see me, didn't you?" Now she was coming to him. Walking slowly toward him. Real. Awake. Aware. "Don't be afraid."

Afraid? Of her? He turned to look at her, and saw the bruises and cuts on her face. They looked a little better than they had last night, but the sight of them defeated his every resolve.

"They hurt you." He lifted his cold hand and touched the cut on her cheek. He met her gaze. "I killed them."

"I know." She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his hand, warming it.

Thierry would have stood there, willing and motionless, until the house fell down around them, just to feel that soft cheek upon his hand.

The knock at the door was another shock, one that made both of them jump.

"Jema?" It was the doctor's voice. "Are you awake?"

Jema was pulling Thierry toward her bathroom, pushing him inside. The door closed in his face, and then he heard her speaking to Bradford. He leaned his forehead against the door. What was she doing? There was no way for him to get out of the bath, no other doors, no windows. If Bradford discovered him here, in her room like this—

Thierry nearly stumbled as the door opened. The bedroom was dark now.

"It's okay," she said, taking his hand in hers and drawing him back into her bedchamber. "He's gone."

"I must go. I only came to say good-bye." He looked over at the bed. "How… ?"

She went to the bed and drew back the quilt. What he had thought was Jema's sleeping form was only a couple of pillows. Her eyes crinkled with amusement. "I fooled you."

He wanted to laugh. He thought he might weep. He would go. "Good-bye, my lady."

She darted around him, blocking his path to the window. "Why do you have to leave? Can't you stay and talk to me?"

"I think I have done enough to you." And it shamed him to admit it to her like this. He had never regretted his talent, but it had been wrong to use it on her as he had. He had violated her mind, and had almost done the same with her body. "I am sorry."

Her expression turned sad. "Didn't you like what we did together in my dreams? That's what happened, wasn't it? You came into my dreams."

"Yes. Sharing them made everything… more bearable." If he were to be damned in her eyes, let it be for the truth. "I couldn't stop. I couldn't stay away."

"I'm glad you didn't." She took a deep breath. "Thierry. God, I didn't know if you were real, and then when I knew you were, I still couldn't believe it." She brushed at her eyes and laughed a little. "It sounds crazy, but I'd rather be in a dream with you than live in the real world."

"We cannot live in a dream," he told her. Something like the old madness was swelling inside him, but he didn't fear it. "Reality is better."

"I wouldn't know." She stepped up to him and placed one hand in the center of his chest. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself standing with her like this, in a grove of apple trees, sunlight all around them. "Would you show me?"

It was her touch that brought his arms around her; that made him lift her up and carry her to her empty bed. He bent down, holding her as he nudged the pillows out of the way, and then set her down. His hands were too big as he put them on her, her clothes too thin and insubstantial. He heard something tearing and realized he was responsible.

But his eyes were locked on her face, and Jema was not afraid of him. She was staring up at him, eyelids half-closed, lips parted. She needed him, wanted him.

Thierry let go of the last of his restraint. In some dim part of his head he knew he was being too rough with her. He tore her clothes from her body, and then helped her rid him of his own. The moment they were bare to each other, their skin touching, their hands moving over each other, he knew madness.

Jema was naked under his hands and he hadn't yet kissed her. His fangs made him hold back, until she curled an arm around his neck and put her lips to his.

Honey and almonds.

He cradled her bottom with one hand and lifted her from the bed, kneeling down on the mattress, holding her over and above him. She laughed and he took in the sound as he took her mouth, kissing her as deeply as he could. The glide of her tongue over his made his hands clench. His shaft throbbed, full and hard, eager for her.

She lifted her head and brushed her mouth against his ear. "Thierry."

In her dreams he had been gentle, erotic, everything she had wanted. It had delighted him to shape and bend himself to please her. From her dreams, he knew her as he had known no other woman. Now she would know him, his desires, his whims.

If only for this night.

Thierry lifted her higher so he could rub his face against her breasts and suck at them. It made her tremble and writhe between his hands, and when he brought her down she spread her thighs and met him, just as she had when she had given him the blood that had saved him.

There was nothing to keep them apart this time.

Jema braced her hands on his shoulders, and he reached between their bodies, grasping the head of his cock and working it between those full, slick lips opening for it. He pressed in, pushing her down, drawing back as he did so he could watch her face.

"Oh." Her eyelashes fluttered and her thighs tightened.

His back teeth met as liquid heat enveloped him. He kept her from impaling herself on him, wanting to fill the silky vise slowly, easily. She fit him as if fashioned exclusively for his pleasure, tight enough to squeeze the length of him, wet enough to make him groan.

Her bottom quivered as it touched his thighs. Her teeth were buried in her bottom lip, and Thierry's fangs ached as he smelted fresh blood. He held on to the other side of his hunger with a death grip as he moved in and licked the blood from her lip. Jema arched against his arm, her hips working, her breasts pressing against his chest.