She eyed Phillipe, who was standing to one side staring off into space. "Phil made me operate on you."

"Yes."

"Jerk." Now she had some budding mental aberration to worry about on top of everything else. "How did you infect me? Through your saliva? Or did you rape me while I was unconscious?"

The beautiful lips she'd made for Cyprien went a little white. "I used my blood to heal the wound I had inflicted on your throat."

"How, exactly?"

"I coated the wound with my blood, but that only closed it. When you stopped breathing—"

"You made me swallow some. So I wasn't dreaming." She nodded. "What about the sex? I remember some interrupted sex."

Cyprien didn't blush, didn't look away. "I lost control, and I tried to take you. Phillipe stopped me in time. It should not have happened."

"You apologize so beautifully, Mike." Alex glanced at the seneschal. "I forgive you for being a jerk."

Phillipe made an exasperated sound. "Docteur, it was not…" He gave Cyprien a helpless look.

"Spare me the details." At least Phillipe had stopped him. If he hadn't, she'd have to go through with that promise she'd made herself involving a rusty chain saw and Cyprien's testicles. "You knew your blood would infect me." Cyprien nodded. "Nice work."

"It was wrong, but I was not thinking clearly. That is also one of the hazards involved in what we are." He saw her expression, and his own shifted into remorse at last. "Alexandra, please, listen to me. I regret what I did, so much more than I can express, but I will—"

"You'll want to shut up right now." She could easily see why someone would want to beat and burn the face off him. "So now I turn into what you are. What's the catchphrase for it again?"

"You will become a vrykolakas. We are called Darkyn."

"Couldn't you guys just pick one name?" She already knew the answer to the next question, but she might as well cover all the bases. "There's no cure, no way to stop it or reverse it?"

He shook his head. "This is not a sickness. We have been cursed—"

"By God, yeah, I got that part. When you came to me in Chicago, you didn't care if I remembered or not, or if I had told anyone about it." Why should he? No one would believe it. "You wanted to check me out, find out why I was still alive."

"Yes. No human has survived exposure to our blood in centuries. You are a miracle, Alexandra."

"I think the curse and the miracle kind of cancel each other out, Mike." Alex had no intention of being either, as long as she could keep her symptoms in remission. "Why didn't you warn me about this that night you came to see me in Chicago?"

Cyprien made a noncommittal gesture. "I did not think at the time that you were infected, or that if you were, that you would believe what was happening to you."

An unexpected pang made her touch the tip of her tongue to the two abscesses forming in the roof of her mouth. Inside them were her newly formed dents acérées.

Aka her fangs.

"I'll never be able to practice medicine again." She let a tiny amount of how she felt trickle into her voice. "You took that away from me, Cyprien. I helped you, I gave you back your face, and you ruined my life."

"You are cursed like us, but you are still alive. We have long needed a healer among our kind." Behind the contrite tone was something else. Arrogance. "You can even continue to help humans, if you wish."

"By feeding on their blood?" She chuckled, but it was a bitter sound. "Terrific idea. I can see them lining up outside my new office in droves."

"We do not harm them anymore." His voice went all warm and friendly, as if they were going to be best buddies from here on out. "I will teach you our ways."

Phillipe came up to her, and knelt down beside her chair. "Vous ferez une belle chasseuse, Alexandra." He looked earnest and serious, the way a friend would.

For that reason, Alex decided not to kick his balls up into his sinus cavity. "What's that mean?"

"He says you will make a beautiful hunter."

"Hit the English books a little harder, Phil." She thought of Bryan's mother and Luisa's attackers. If she let this thing run its course, would she be able to hunt them? Rip out their throats?

Never.

"Well, it's been fun catching up, but I gotta go." She got up and hobbled out.

Cyprien followed her. "We have a great deal more to discuss."

"I've heard enough, thanks."

He blocked her path to the front door. "You will need someone to help you, watch over you while you die your human death. I cannot permit you to go."

She shook her head. The man had looks—thanks to her—and money, and a great house, and virtual immortality, but brains? A carrot had more. "I don't need permission."

"I made you what you are. You are my sygkenis."

She frowned. "Does that give you some kind of creepy control over me, like in all the Drac movies?"

"No. It means that I made you." Now he got the snotty look again. "You are my progeny. You will take an oath of loyalty to me, and obey me when I command you."

He was serious. "Christ, you really believe that. Incredible. Step aside."

He put his hand on her arm. "Alexandra, I do not care about the oath. I care about you. I want you here, with me."

He said it with such warmth and sincerity that she almost believed him. The same way she almost believed in the Easter Bunny.

"Decapitation, right?" She drew the copper-coated scalpel she carried, and held the point to his throat, "Here's how it will happen: I slice through your jugular and carotid. You'll be able to fill La Fontaine with all the blood you'll lose. While you're bleeding out, I cut through the esophagus and the windpipe. No more breathing for you, but lots of choking. I keep sawing until I get through the muscles and assorted ganglia to the vertebrae at the base of your skull. The spinal cord's a little tougher, but nothing I can't handle." She leaned in until their mouths were only a whisper apart. "Remember how fast I am, Mike. Take me, oh, minute, minute and a half, tops. You'll be brain-dead in two and deceased in three. Think Phillipe can stop me?"

"He would kill you." Cyprien appeared unmoved. "But you cannot do it. Not to me."

"You might want to think that through again." The smell of honeysuckle made her press the edge in, until Cyprien's blood began trickling down the blade. He wrapped his long fingers around her wrist, but he didn't try to force the blade away. "Tell Phil to take a walk."

Cyprien looked past her. "Do as she says."

The smell of honeysuckle faded, and Alex eased back on the knife.

"It's simple, really. Don't call. Don't write. Don't send anyone after me." Slowly she lowered the blade and pushed him out of the way.

Cyprien stayed where he was and let her get to the door before he said, "You will come back to me, Alexandra."

Yes, she would, if she survived this thing. She would come back here, and kill him.

Chapter Eleven

Going to Ireland the day after Alexandra paid him a visit was unavoidable. Tremayne had issued an unprecedented, second summons to Michael, and had two of his guards deliver it in person. The guards allowed Michael no time to respond, prepare, or even pack a case. In thirty minutes they were on Richard's private jet, and in six hours they arrived at Dundellan.

No one greeted him or met him at the door of the castle. Michael was ushered inside to the stateroom, another indication of how unhappy the high lord was. The stateroom was reserved for three things: settlements, punishments, and executions.

The guards left him alone, which meant it wasn't an execution.

"You look well, Michael."

"Thank you, Seigneur." Since Cyprien could not return the compliment, he bowed toward the throne that sat shrouded, as Richard Tremayne did, in darkness.

"Something of a shock, considering that the last time I saw you your countenance resembled the inside of a haggis," the high lord continued smoothly. "In fact, aside from some insignificant alterations, you look wholly yourself again. I am all over astonishment."

He resisted the urge to touch his face, which he had yet to grow accustomed to. "I have been fortunate, my lord."

"My dear Cyprien, we both know that you have neither luck nor divine intervention to thank for this." Tremayne made a thoughtful sound. "Your human physician, on the other hand, appears to be on the order of a miracle worker."

"Yes, my lord." How had Tremayne learned about Alexandra Keller? Michael felt certain that Jaus had kept his silence; the suzerain had made his loyalties plain. None of Michael's people would have said anything. "She is a plastic surgeon."

"You should pay whatever she asks in fee. Why did you not answer my first summons?"

It had been eight weeks since Valentin had delivered it, but Michael had been distracted, both by Lucan and Alexandra. He could not tell Richard about the doctor's slow transformation from human to Darkyn. Even now, he was not certain Alexandra would survive it.

"With Lucan in America," Michael said, "I had to make arrangements to protect my jardin."

"I suppose that is sensible. Lucan no longer serves me, so you should remain alert."

Michael could not remember a time when the assassin pursued anything but Richard's enemies. If Lucan evaded capture for a year and a day, then by Darkyn law he would no longer belong to Richard. "Has Lucan betrayed you?"

Tremayne let the silence stretch out, long enough to make Michael regret asking. "Let us say that in recognition of the years of his dedicated and valuable service, I am releasing Lucan from his oath to me."

"That also removes him from your protection."

"Yes, it does, but I would rather you not hunt down and kill him, if it can be avoided. Part of Lucan is still mine." Flame flickered, and a red ember glowed. Not enough to light up Richard's features, but enough to hint that they were better left in shadow. "Where is Dr. Keller?"