Evan was supposed to give her two marks. Would he do it tonight or wait?

It was not her place to wonder such things. As she stepped into the cabin, she found that it wasn’t dark and gloomy as she expected. Things were clean and smelled like the mountains and forest. Though it was small, there appeared to be several rooms. A main sitting area with a kitchen. A bedroom was visible through an open door. Stepping into the hallway, she saw the open door to the back bedroom, a bathroom dividing it from the other bedroom. The beds had handmade quilts in fall colors and pillows with earth-tone cases. Dried wildflowers and a few mountain prints provided comforting touches to the décor. As she turned back toward the main room, she saw the knotty pine log walls were a pale golden color that added light to what was coming in through the windows. A bookcase had a mountain scene carved in the molding piece overlapping the top shelf. A wooden black bear stood next to the shelf, black eyes steady upon her.

“Stay still a moment, lass.” Closing the door, Niall moved to do the same to the windows. In addition to curtains, they had interior shutters. Once he closed both, it put the cabin in darkness, shutting out the midday sun. As a third mark, she could see in the dark, but with the blocker she was blinded, explaining Niall’s order. A match was struck, the sulfur hitting her nostrils before he lit a lantern on the kitchen table, filling the room with shadows. “He does a lot o’ black-and-white photography, prefers to develop it rather than relying on digital media. That’s what he’s doing now, so we cannae let any light down. It’s better for him as well.”

Moving the oval braided rug on the kitchen floor, Niall revealed the door to the cellar. When he lifted it, his forearm was bathed in a reddish light coming up from the room below. She also sensed the presence of her new Master. At least that was one thing the blocker had not taken away from her—a servant’s ability to detect a vampire nearby.

Setting the injection case on the table, she followed Niall’s direction to go down the ladder ahead of him. She couldn’t see much more than red light and shadows, but as she started to descend, a pair of hands touched her legs. A shiver ran from that contact point up her thighs. She remembered those long, strong fingers far better than she’d expected. Though Debra had confirmed the two males had been there, that they weren’t a dream, she didn’t know if the painting, the way those hands had made her feel, had been true, or something she’d enhanced, an oasis constructed by her mind to survive Stephen’s punishing invasion. She had that answer now.

Those hands slid from her calves to her thighs with easy intimacy, because of course she was his to touch, right? His hands had a different strength than Niall’s, but were no less reassuring as they brushed over her hips, closed on her waist, ensuring she made it safely to the floor. Understanding the peculiarities of Randoms, she’d managed their kindnesses accordingly. But she had no clue how to take such a gesture from a vampire. It seemed very . . . human. Evan was a made vampire, but then so was Stephen, and many of his acquaintances. None of them would have assisted a servant in such a way.

Turning away from the ladder, she faced her new Master. She was five four, so she estimated his height at six feet when she did a quick glance upward. Evan didn’t have Niall’s height or breadth—she didn’t imagine many men did—but his shoulders were broad, despite a rangy body type, lean and knotted. He had the decided features of a handsome Jewish man—straight slash cheekbones, his mouth a firm, thin line, his straight nose the dividing marker for wide-spaced eyes that were gray and deep-set, with dark fine brows to complement the straight fall of hair over them. She suspected the charisma he emanated had been there before he was turned, but the vampire blood only enhanced it.

She was wrong. She had seen his face at some point, because she remembered his eyes. How long had they stayed at her bedside? The painting, the touch of Niall’s hands on her face . . . it had seemed to go on a long time. Hell’s minions had been howling at the door, but they’d been unable to get through while Evan and Niall were there.

“Just as impossibly beautiful as I expected,” Evan murmured. Without permission, her body swayed toward his, recalling that voice. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Though a little dizzy. Niall didn’t feed you.”

“No, he did, Master. My apologies. I . . .” It wasn’t dizziness, not that kind. They’d been real. It made the memory something far more significant to her, and she wasn’t sure how to process that. She was so outside her normal milieu, it made their reality almost more fantastic than when she thought them a hallucination.

He touched a loose lock of her hair. The dark red color, with shimmers of gold throughout, had always drawn attention. She had to fight the urge to turn into that touch. InhServs could show pleasure when the time was appropriate, but this didn’t feel like that time. He’d think her a fool. “Was your trip a pleasant experience?” he asked. “I expect the opportunity to put Niall back on his heels was the best part.”

She blinked. “Yes . . . I mean, the trip was fine, Master.”

Evan chuckled. Brushing her cheek with his fingertips, he kept his other hand on her waist, but it didn’t feel like a casual touch. He was learning her, and she was vibrating beneath the attention. The flicker in those heavy-lidded eyes showed his awareness of it, but she kept her gaze on his throat. A servant didn’t meet a vampire’s gaze unless she had permission. Even if the vampire had gray eyes that reminded her of that still, floating place after the nightmares had receded.

His regard was different from that of other vampires, however. It was a full exploration, as if he was trying to see below the skin and muscle, the architecture of bone, to determine what emotions and experiences radiating from her soul made her face look like it did. It was disconcerting, but she stayed still.

Glimpsing him through her lashes, she realized he’d been turned young, perhaps when he was no more than twenty-one or twenty-two. But four hundred years of life and that innate charisma tempered his youthful appearance, even as the combination made him look even more preternatural. He wouldn’t ever blend in among humans easily.

“Evan Samuel Miller is my full name. When I was born, it was Eitan ben Samuel, so you might see some correspondence from older friends—much older friends—with that name on the address. I Anglicized it after my father’s death. Bad luck while he’s living. Old superstition, but then, I am old.” Evan flashed teeth at her, a bare hint of fang, and his hand on her waist tightened. “Four hundred and something . . . Since I turned two hundred, I only track the numbers that end with two zeros.”

She blinked, nodded, because that seemed the appropriate response.

“I spend a great deal of time around humans, compared to other vampires, so you’ll call me Evan,” he added. Then he tipped up her chin, capturing her in that gaze. “When it’s time to call me Master, you’ll know it.”

“Yes, Mas— Evan.”

“Good.” Releasing her, he turned back to his task, but she noticed he took his support away gradually, making sure she was firm on her feet. She wasn’t, but she managed to stand upright regardless, shifting away from the ladder so Niall could join them when he desired to do so. The scent of the chemical bath was distinct but not unpleasant. The dim light glimmered across the series of trays in which photo paper floated, shapes slowly coming into focus. Stepping forward to study one, Evan reached for a pair of tongs, using them to transfer the picture into a different tray. “Has Niall given you the information you need?”

Panic tripped through her chest. Had she missed a step? “Sir?”

Evan glanced toward the ladder. Niall was now leaning against it, the trapdoor closed above him. She hadn’t even heard him come down. He moved like a scout for an invading army, even more silently than she was used to third marks moving. His eyes were darker in the dim light, the broad planes of his face even more rugged. “She didn’t have any questions, except how best to serve you.”

“I’m sure Niall told you he was not the best source for that.” Evan studied the contents of another tray, checked his watch. “Another minute or two,” he mused. Then he looked toward her again. “He didn’t tell you what he said, did he? The first time I called our view the Atheist Test?”

She looked at Niall, then back at Evan. “No, sir.”

“All it proves is God likes to pick up a paintbrush,” Niall said. “Just like Evan, He may not be guid for much else than pretty pictures.”

Though she was astounded by the disrespect, Evan bared his fangs at his servant, a feral smile. “But you didn’t refute the theory. Whether you think He’s an inept deity or not, you don’t deny His presence in your life.”

“No more than I deny when there’s a thorn stuck in my arse,” Niall said mildly.

Evan lifted a brow, but shifted his attention back to Alanna. “You are an exceptionally intelligent woman, Alanna. A very accomplished one. I’m certain you realize we are a far cry from what you’ve known. Much of your training may not apply here. Plus the circumstances are somewhat different.”

The tray at the far end of the table had caught his attention. As he shifted to stand before it, he fell silent, studying what was coming into form there. He braced his knuckles on the table and picked up another set of tongs, swishing the paper in the bath. When Alanna looked toward Niall, hoping for some cue, Niall put a finger to his lips, indicating she should wait. She could do that. She was exceptionally good at waiting.

“I’m charged to keep you on the outer fringes of Stephen’s radar, while the Council hunts that benzona.” Evan at last spoke, setting aside the tongs, though he kept his gaze on the picture. “While you are to behave as my servant, it’s a temporary situation. The place for your beauty and talents is not among the peasantry, but available to vampires far more ambitious than I. My job is to keep you safe until that happens.”

She was caught up in determining what a benzona was—from the slight edge in his voice, something not complimentary—and the flow of his voice. It reminded her of a classical guitar piece, the melody interspersed with deeper bass tones. However, his last sentence broke her out of the dangerous reverie. Surely he realized once Stephen was caught, he would be executed, and she would die with him? Lord Brian’s blocker didn’t change that. However, since her personal fate did not require mention, she remained silent.