At the top of the stairs, he watched her input the code on the keypad to release the electronic locks. “Is there a self-destruct button on that?”

“No, but if you put in the wrong code, it sends a silent alarm to the council’s security company. Just before it electrocutes you.” She pulled open the steel door, which activated the lighting inside the flat. “We take safety measures very seriously.”

“I see why.”

She watched as Korvel made a circuit of the room, inspecting the racks of weapons and shelves of field supplies interspersed among the old apartment’s shabby furnishings. “If you need blood, fresh supplies are stored in the kitchen. The satellite phones will need charging before we can use them, but the landline in the bedroom is safeguarded.”

He picked up a small book from the window seat. “They store children here as well?”

“Oh, that belonged to me.” The sight of the old storybook made her heart twist. “My father used this property as a flat when I was young.”

“He brought you here?”

“It was the safest place in the city.” Feeling awkward now, she added, “I’m going to wash up. Please make yourself at home.”

Simone retreated to the adjoining room, where she opened the doors to the large walk-in closet. On one side a long rack of fashionable garments in a variety of styles hung grouped by sizes ranging from petite to giant; on the other, stacks of body armor and other protective gear had been shelved. She chose from the clothing a pair of black leather leggings and a matching long-sleeved cashmere pullover. After she retrieved black lingerie from the drawers beneath the rack, she carried the stack of fresh clothing into the bath so she could change.

Simone turned on the sink taps to warm the water before she stripped out of her trousers, stopping only when she smelled a faint vanilla fragrance.

Larkspur.

She looked over her shoulder, but saw no sign of Korvel. As she pulled the shirt over her head the scent grew stronger, until she realized it was coming from her own body.

Of course she still smelled of him. He had been all over her, inside her. She would have to scrub every inch of her body to be rid of him.

Slowly Simone turned off the taps.

At the hotel she had behaved out of anger and jealousy, and she still didn’t understand from where it had come. Why had seeing him with those women enraged her? Korvel had to use mortals for blood. She knew that. What he’d done was nothing out of the ordinary. If anything he’d been clever about it.

Why had it felt so different when she’d seen him with those women?

Simone had known from the moment she’d begun to flirt with the man at the bar that Korvel would see her as well. She’d made certain of it, even choosing the Spaniard because he was within the captain’s line of sight. She’d also known Korvel would recognize her, even dressed and made up as she had been. And when she had left the hotel with that whiskey-soaked fumbler, she had known Korvel would follow. That was why she had taken the Spaniard’s keys out of the ignition, and fended off his clumsy embraces. She had only wanted to show the captain that she could be just as beautiful and desirable as the women he had gathered to him in the club.

All of it simply so he would see her.

From there everything had raced out of control, so fast and so far the rest of the world had faded away. He had been so angry, but so had she, and they had somehow become mirrors of each other, with their furious tempers exploding into outrageous passion. Her own behavior had shamed her into leaving him, but he had followed her again, and cornered her, gently urging her to face what burned between them. And then he had her under him, the pleasure had come over her, and nothing more mattered than giving the same to him.

Time had melted into Dalí’s pocket watch as she lost herself in his hands, in the exquisite invasion, his flesh into hers. She remembered the splintering sensation of her orgasm, the hard urgency of his, and how, for the briefest moment, it had merged them into one. It had frightened her to feel so destroyed and utterly remade by him.

Even more shameful, Simone wanted to feel it again. Her desire for him was stronger than ever.

She removed the last of her clothing before she walked out into the bedroom, unsure of what she meant to do. Somewhere in the city Pájaro had hidden with the scroll as bait for a dead man. In Italy the council waited for word that Simone had successfully retrieved it. In Ireland, the high lord expected Korvel to return and deliver it into his hands. Men, good men who had devoted their entire lives to preserving the peace between the mortal and immortal worlds, had been tortured and murdered.

In the next few hours, the future of the Darkyn and humanity might be forever altered, even obliterated. Simone knew the weight of it, the massive, crushing responsibility of it, was a burden she had to carry alone.

“This I would take as an invitation.” Korvel’s hands curved over her shoulders. “If I thought it was for me that you were standing here, naked in the dark.”

As his thumbs followed the outer curves of her breasts, an unnerving heat flared up in her. He had only to touch her and she was his. Just as all women were. “Who is Alexandra?”

His hands stilled. “How do you know that name?”

“You called for her just after you collapsed in the greenhouse.” She turned around. “Who is she? Your sygkenis? Your tresora in Ireland?”

His hands fell away from her. “She is no one of consequence.”

The small changes in his musculature made her heart clench. “You’re lying to me.” When he went toward the door, she darted in front of him. “If she means nothing to you, then why can’t you talk about her?”

His expression turned to stone. “I have no tresora or sygkenis, and Lady Alexandra is not your concern. You should get dressed now.”

The soft way with which he said the other woman’s name made her stand her ground. “Do you love her?”

“Simone.”

“Yes or no?”

“She belonged to another man, and I tried to take her from him. She would not have me.” Regret echoed behind the words, but he also sounded strangely relieved.

The truth made less sense than his lie. “I thought no woman could resist you.”

“Alexandra is different,” he admitted. “She was the first mortal in five hundred years to survive being made Kyn.”

Of course, the woman he loved would be one of his own kind. There were few females among the Darkyn, but Flavia had described how strong and beautiful they were. Nothing like Simone, with her human imperfections and scarred body.

“Thank you for telling me.” She went to the bathroom and began to dress.

Korvel appeared in the doorway. “Why did you ask me about Alexandra, Simone?”

“Tresori are not permitted to violate the boundaries of a Kyn bond.” She reached behind her back to fasten her bra. “If this Lady Alexandra were your sygkenis, she would be within her rights to kill me for having sex with you.”

He studied her face. “Now you lie.”

“When you were in pain, you called out for her.” She glared at him. “I was right there, saving you, dragging you to a horse, and you wanted another woman.” Aware of how ridiculous she sounded, she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Tomorrow you will be on your way back to Ireland, and I will return to the convent, and we will forget each other.”

“Will we?”

“We have to.” He wasn’t listening to her; he was staring at her bottom. “Captain.” She saw his pupils had turned to splinters. “Captain. You need blood.”

His eyes shifted to hers. “I need many things.”

So did she, but the night would not last forever. “My contact is waiting down at the docks.”

Reluctantly he withdrew, and she finished dressing. Knowing she would be searched at the docks, she didn’t bother arming herself when she rejoined Korvel.

“I’m leaving now,” she told him. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

He frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I have to meet my contact alone. He agreed to help me only because he owed a debt to my father.” As Korvel scowled, she added, “He will not give me any information in front of you.”

“You are not going there alone.” When she began to protest, he said, “I will wait in the car.”

Korvel was a good man. He would never allow her to go unguarded into a dangerous situation. But once she obtained the information from Lechance, she would know the location of the scroll. Once the scroll was in their possession, her orders were to destroy it and kill Korvel.

“If you insist.” She checked her watch. “I have to call Rome before we leave. It should be only a few minutes.”

She returned to the bedroom, crossing quickly to open the back window and climb out onto the fire escape landing. Knowing the ladder would rattle, she swung herself over the edge and dropped.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, Simone ran.

While he waited for Simone, Korvel made use of the bagged blood stored in the refrigerator. With no wine to mask the unpleasant taste of the thick, chilly stuff, he drank only enough to take the edge off his hunger. Having Simone naked in his arms had again aroused the beast inside him, and too much blood would compromise his self-control. She deserved more from him than another mindless, frantic coupling.

She deserved pampering, and Paris, and a hundred silk dresses. Korvel imagined taking Simone to one of the city’s most exclusive hotels, where she would have her own personal maid, and dine on fine cuisine, and bathe in Chanel-scented water. She would love the fashion district, with its chic designers and elegant couture, the magnificence of the Louvre and its endless treasures of the ages, the quiet spots on the banks of the Seine where Renoir and Monet had once painted their masterpieces side by side.

From Paris they could travel to London, where he could show her his side of the channel, and the many jewels of the past hidden within the bustling metropolis: Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, with its wooden benches and immortal plays; the quiet peace of evensong at St. Paul’s Cathedral; the breathtaking views from the London Eye. They could walk the same path William I had ridden almost a thousand years before, when he had conquered the Saxons and claimed the throne. Korvel had always had a soft spot for the conqueror, who like him had been a bastard.