Kat hesitated. She couldn’t have seen what she thought she’d seen. Her stomach roiled and she pressed her hand to her belly. “It may have been a trick of the light. I should look again.” Except she didn’t want to. She shook her hands out to the sides, trying to distract herself from what she thought she’d seen.

Oh, Gaia, give me strength.

She forced herself closer. Forced herself to put her hands on his face and angle him toward the light. When she looked into his socket, they were there. All along the back curve of his eye socket, tiny eyes—hundreds of them—some sprouted partially on top of others. They all rolled, shifted, or darted from side-to-side while they blinked, as if searching for something.

They all froze.

They shifted to stare at her.

“Oh, Gaia.” She pulled the bandage into place.

“What? You’re freaking me out.”

Oh, he had no idea. Should she tell him? He couldn’t see his reflection. If she didn’t tell him, he’d never know. She wet her lips. “That eye—” She clapped her hands together hard, the sting shifting her focus from the memory of what she’d seen. “It needs more time to heal, that’s all.” She shouldn’t worry him. He had plenty of things to deal with, there was no need to add to his burden.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“That right eye, uh, it’s not . . .”—normal—“healing as fast.” She closed her own eyes tight, as if she could squeeze the image from her mind. “Your right eye was damaged more than the left.”

“I’m not healing well?”

She held up three fingers above his face and he squinted as if she were shining a bright light in his eyes. “How many fingers?” Gaia help her, she hadn’t even lifted the bandage.

Before she could do so, he answered. “Three.” A scowl bracketed his mouth. “Damn it, how bad is it?”

She removed her hand from his line of sight and his features relaxed. He could see through the bandage. Those eyes, they could see even when they were covered. Why? Was this some manifestation of the curses the Watcher left behind, or something else? “You may want to wear a patch.” Focus on the person, not the injury. She caressed his cheeks while she spoke. Focused on all the features she found attractive. “There’s damage to the surrounding area, as well. Your forehead, eyelid, and cheek.”

He frowned. “I look pretty bad.”

“Some may stare.” Who was she kidding? People would run in horror from that eye. As long as he kept it covered, though, people would only see his handsome face.

She should step away now that the examination was done but his face still tipped up toward hers, her hands still framed his face, and the frown he wore bothered her. “You’re handsome, Jules.”

That snapped him out of his reverie. His face moved slightly, as if trying to look into her eyes. “Kat, don’t—”

Her thumb stroked across his mouth, silencing him. “I can see fine and I’m not being patronizing, I’m being honest.”

Her gaze locked onto his mouth. His lips parted and his breath caressed her fingers. It made her think of when he kissed her, the feel of those lips pressed to hers, the way they’d shared each breath, and without much thought at all, she kissed him again.

For a second or two he resisted, his lips remained firm against hers. He was going to reject her again.

She was about to pull away when he growled deep in his chest and took over. His hands locked behind each of her thighs, pulling her between his legs. The heat of those two hands, placed right below her bum with no barrier but the thin material of her skirt made her belly clench. The proximity of his fingers to her pussy made moisture gather between her thighs.

He took complete possession, his mouth fierce against hers. If she’d been worried before about his rejection, now she was more concerned about surviving his passion. She slipped her fingers into the silk of his hair and met his kiss head on, as ruthless in her effort to rouse him as he was to dominate her.

He stood, his hands caressing over her backside, tracing the seam between her cheeks, then pressing into her back.

Gaia, she couldn’t stop touching him. His muscles bunched under her fingers as she stroked his neck, shoulders, and chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist and cupped his bum through the sheet.

Julius tensed.

Oh, Gaia, what was she doing? He wasn’t ready for this yet. She stepped back.

The sheet fell.

With a will of its own, her gaze traveled the full length of all six-feet-four inches of gorgeous, fully-aroused male.

He snatched up the sheet. His cheeks blazed. “Fuck’s sake, Kat—”

“No need to be shy on my account, Jules, but if you’d be more comfortable, your new clothes have been delivered.” Before he could say anything to discourage her, she turned and sashayed back to her room.

She unwrapped the package, taking her time pulling off the tags on each piece of clothing.

Julius entered the bedroom. His jaw flexed. “Did you say something about clothes?”

Though she let herself grin freely, she stifled the laugh wanting to bubble out. Good gods, was the Harbinger blushing? “Mm-hm. Got them right here.”

He came over and picked the box up off the dresser. “What is it?”

“I got a few choices here. Khakis, a button-down, and loafers.”

He wrinkled his nose.

Interesting. That’s all she’d ever seen him in. Perhaps that was what the Watcher had preferred.

“I also got a couple pairs of jeans. Boots. Sleeveless undershirts, and—”

“Jeans and an undershirt.” Pink stained his cheeks and his grin was a bit lopsided. “That way you still get your eye-candy.”

No way could she hold in her mirth. Hm. He was warming up.

She handed over the goods along with some socks, boxers, and a pair of boots. He disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later he reappeared. He’d donned the jeans and boxers—the Calvin Klein band rode right above the top of the jeans—but nothing else. He looked . . . lickable. Now that she had him dressed, all she could think about was getting him naked again.

He had the black tank fisted in his hand and his other arm was bent around behind him. He walked over, a frown marring his brow and gave her his back. “What is this?”

With a glance to where his hand pointed—the raised ridges of the name scarred into his lower back—she turned away. Busied herself tidying the room. Put the sheet back on the bed. That scar creeped her out.

“I know you heard me. What is this?”

“It’s nothing.”

He tried to edge into her space. “Why don’t you stop moving and try looking at what I’m showing you?”

She paused. “It’s a scar, Jules. Don’t worry about it.”

“It feels different. Like it’s symbols or . . . .” His expression changed. Darkened. “What does it say?”

“Quit worrying. It’s nothing. No one will see it.”

“You’ve seen it. It’s on my goddamned skin. What is it?” When she remained silent, he strode forward. Got up into her face. “What. The. Fuck. Is. It.”

Oh, fine. If he wanted to be a dick about it. “Vince.”

He straightened. “What?”

Gaia. The look on his face. Her and her damned temper! She tried again. Softer this time, with more compassion. “It says ‘Vince.’”

His head cocked to the side. He stood still. Quiet.

Then something horrible passed across his face. Something that broke her heart.

“Now, ain’t you a pretty lad.”

Julius stood in a communal cell. The prison was dark. Dank. The combined stench of sweat, feces, and rot rode in on every breath. A smidgen of choked light came through tiny, barred windows high on the stone walls.

The gap-toothed rotter who’d spoken was Cockney. They must be in England. Was this Milborn? Newgate? How the hell had they gotten here?

They? He glanced around but he stood alone facing the prisoners.

Three more men approached, glancing at each other with grotesque grins, their filth-ridden bodies clothed in nothing more than ill-fitting drawstring pants.

One of them slapped Gap-tooth on the arm. “Day’s looking up, ain’t it, Vince?”

Jesus, he didn’t like the way they were eyeing him up. He glanced down at himself, he wasn’t wearing prison garb. He still had on his own evening dress—a navy frock coat and breeches. Nor did shackles encase his wrists. Not like theirs. The thing was those chains of theirs weren’t secured to anything.

He smiled. Met each of their gazes and activated his talent. “You don’t want anything to do with me.”

Gap-toothed Vince grinned. Popped up his brows. “Oh, but we do.”

Grin faltering, Julius tried his talent again. Held each gaze for a second or two longer. “I terrify you.”

They all laughed.

Why the hell wasn’t his talent working? They should all be running the other way, damn it. He swallowed.

Vince scratched at his crotch. “Naw, lad. Thing is I like me a clean fuck, and you’re the freshest piece I seen in years.”

Oh, there was no way in hell. He reached for his blades and came up empty-handed. Shite. Where were his weapons?

The four of them shuffled forward.

Julius took a step back, shaking his head.

Glanced around for something to use as a weapon. The only thing in the room was a scarred table the size of a barn door with planks for seating—all one-piece and heavy as hell.

That’s okay. He could fight. He’d take out all four of these bastards, or go out in a blaze trying. He raised his fists.

Then, something happened. Something he couldn’t explain. In his mind, he wanted to fight. Was determined to kick ass and take names.

But his body . . . he lowered his fists. He turned to the table, giving his back to gap-tooth Vince and his chums and he shrugged out of the coat.

No. Fight! Fight, damn it!

The communal cell grew quiet. Liquid dripped down the walls. A rat scurried across the floor.

He broke out in a cold sweat as his hand went to his falls and undid the buttons with quick, efficient jerks. The placket fell.

Then, so too did his pants.

The men erupted into laughter. Cat-calls. Whistles and applause.

Heat infused his face. He started to tremble. Fuck that, he was shaking in his goddamn boots. What the hell was he doing?

His muscles flexed and strained as he tried to fight his body’s actions. Still, he stretched his torso out over the rough wooden table. Bared his goddamned ass like a cat in heat. Shit. No. Not doing this. His skin crawled, raising his hair. This isn’t going to happen. He couldn’t even lift his head from the scarred wood, as if something held him there, though no one did.

Jesus, had he been mesmerized?

He opened his mouth. Opened it with the intent of telling them to stay away. With the aim of spewing forth every vile, imaginative threat he could conjure. “I get a bit above myself sometimes, lads. Could use a lesson.” No, no, no! “Why don’t you come show me what you’ve got?” Jesus. He was going to be sick.

The flat slap of bare feet on stone came closer as men surrounded the table. Him.

From behind came the rustle of clothing.

He tried to look back, to see who the hell was back there. Tried to push himself off the table.

Something soft hit the floor.

No. Please, please don’t let this happen.

The asshole in his line of sight reached down and lowered his pants a bit. Grabbed his half-aroused knob and jerked off to the show.

Julius’ vision blurred. He wanted to fight. To get up and run. Anything but lay here in fucking supplication.

Meaty hands stroked his ass cheeks. Spread them. Oh, fuck no.

Someone else grabbed a fist full of his hair. Lifted his head. “Open.”

Julius stared. Something was moving in his pubic hair. He had lice.

His mouth opened. Not to do as asked, damn it, but to tell them to fuck off.

“Look it ’ow scairt ’is eyes are.” The lice-infested asshole laughed. “Funny to look so fucking scairt when ’e acts like a xsperienced rent boy, eh?”

Julius reached out and Kat’s warm fingers enclosed his. Jesus. That couldn’t have happened. He never would’ve allowed . . . but he remembered the burn. How he thought they’d ripped—

He gagged and bolted for the bathroom.

Kat rushed after Julius, reaching him as the first wrenching gag filled the room. “Jules, don’t.” She grabbed him. Wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her legs around his waist. “Please, stop. Breathe, Jules. You can’t get sick remember? Breathe.”

No, vampires couldn’t vomit. They didn’t eat. Didn’t have organs. But the darkness keeping them alive, keeping them solid and real could be removed. Ejected. She’d heard of such things. She’d be damned if she’d let it happen to him.

“Come on. Breathe, Jules.” She tightened her hold. With each heave, his muscles tensed, flexed under her hands. “Relax. Let your body relax. We’re okay. We’re safe. Everything’s all right, baby.”

Before her own transformation, she hadn’t understood how it could be that a vampire could have such human-like reactions. Now, even though she knew she wasn’t human, even though she knew she was empty of everything save the darkness keeping her alive, she still felt everything the same way she’d had as a human.

His muscles convulsed as another dry heave racked his body. She wasn’t reaching him. Couldn’t. He didn’t seem able to stop. He choked. Gagged. Shuddered in her arms. Tried to speak and then gagged again.

Gaia, she had to help him. She rested her cheek on his back and forced herself to calm and center. Opening her chakras, she let the Earth’s energy flow through her. Sent little burst of healing and calm into her mate.

“Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe, baby, breathe.”

He coughed. Took a deep breath. Rested his face on the edge of the bowl and released a sob. The hoarse sound so full of mourning, of loss, it broke her heart. Made her eyes fill with tears.

“Shh. Jules don’t cry. You’re gonna hurt your eyes.” She rocked with him. Squeezed him tight to let him know he wasn’t alone. “Please, please stop, Jules. Shh. Take a deep breath. Don’t hurt your eyes anymore.”

What was she doing? To think she could heal him. Give well-being and peace to someone who’d spent so long in the bowels of hell. She didn’t even know what happened. Had he remembered something? Everything? She shouldn’t have lost her temper. Shouldn’t have said anything. She was stupid. Arrogant. Out of her depth. She had no idea what to do. How to ease him.

So she held him. She held him in a full body hug so tight she darned near became one with him. She kissed him. His back. His neck. Everywhere she could reach. She held him and she cried. Wept silently, right along with him. She prayed, begged Gaia to give him some peace. Some kind of comfort to ease his torment.

When he calmed in her arms, when he allowed her to pull him back into her embrace, she rubbed her cheek against his. Held her hand over his eyes and used her Magic to ease any new damage he’d done.

“Talk to me, Jules. Did you remember something?”

He snorted and while he didn’t try to leave her embrace, he turned his face away. His muscles tensed as another tremor wracked him.

She had to get him to talk. Keeping these emotions bottled up wasn’t good. “Was Vince someone special?”

He pulled away, got up, grabbed her toothbrush and squeezed some paste onto it. “I’m not gay.”

For a moment, she stared while he brushed his teeth. When she’d seen the name, she had made the assumption he’d had a lover named Vince. But maybe it was the name of a family member. Did people do that? She supposed it wasn’t that different from a memorial tattoo. She frowned.

He finished and came and sat next to her again.

She reached out. Trailed her fingers down his arm. “I thought maybe it was a memorial for—”

“Family and friends are remembered in a tattoo. Not cut into skin.” He brought his hands up on either side of his head, fisted them. “They’re in other places—arms, over the heart, on the shoulder—not cut into a fucking tramp stamp.”

What was he saying? Vince wasn’t friend or family and Jules wasn’t gay so . . . . She eased herself up to her knees and crawled into his lap, facing him. She was half afraid he’d bolt before they’d sorted everything out and she was determined to make it as difficult as possible for him to get away.

“You’ve lived a long time, Jules. People . . . men . . . experiment. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

His sigh blew across her face. “I’m not making a commentary about the state of morals today. I could give a shit about the sexual orientation of others. I’m talking about myself.” He faced her. “Me. I’m. Not. Gay. Never experimented. Didn’t have a boyfriend named . . . . I didn’t let . . . . I never . . . .” His mouth twisted. “It wasn’t fucking consensual, all right?”

Kat reached out to touch his face, wishing she could see his eyes. Cupped his cheeks. Nodded. He was raped. She nodded again and the motion seemed to reverberate through her body as she started to shake. He was raped and his attacker carved his name into his skin.

Gaia, she was terrified. Not of him, but for him. How could she make him understand that while she was horrified and wished it never happened that this didn’t change him or how she felt?

He let his head fall back against the edge of the tub and, unable to let go, her hands ended up at his throat. The thick muscles of his neck and shoulders shivered under her hands. He was so strong. How could . . .? She shook her head. Strength had nothing to do with anything. If there’d been more than one of them or if he’d been caught unaware. . . . “Before or after Katherine the Great?”

“After. I think. Had to be. They called me a rent boy.”

Rent boy? Gaia, the images that brought to mind were heartbreaking. She forced herself away from those thoughts before she started crying again.

He shook his head. “The fucked-up thing is I wanted to fight. Hated every second and—” His voice cracked and he broke off. Shook his head. “I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t fight.”

Oh, she knew why—the Watcher, that sick bastard—but she couldn’t say, not without causing him to have another seizure. In time, though, he’d remember the rest. Hopefully, before he recalled anything more. Then again would knowing he’d been under the control of a stronger being be harder for him to accept or easier?

Gaia help him, there would be more. Three hundred years’ worth of more.

A fat tear tailed underneath the bandage and she thumbed it away. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re okay.”

“No. You don’t understand. I wasn’t tied down while some back-wood did me. I participated.” Another tear fell from beneath the bandage leaving a jagged trail in its wake. His jaw flexed. “I’m a head-job, all right? I screamed in my head while that bastard fucked me and all the while I spit-shined his buddy’s dick.” His mouth twisted. “I let him stuff my mouth full of—”

She kissed him. A sweet, chaste melding of lips. Because she didn’t care what had been in his mouth. Or anywhere else. He was hers. And she was his. And that’s all that mattered in the end.