After they all left, she was back to waiting with her single suitcase. She touched that part of her cheek that Gideon’s mouth had touched, felt again the pressure of the male hands holding her up.

Realizing what she was doing, she stiffened as if the whip of the InhServ trainer had snapped across her shoulders. She was unacceptably unfocused. Dedication and duty were the two sides of the InhServ knife, both required to stay sharp. The InhServ discipline protocols would serve that purpose. Punishment, deprivation, reflection.

She’d already packed her scourge, else she would have beaten herself bloody, but there were other ways to remind herself. Rising, she found the small bag of uncooked rice she’d left in the nightstand. Putting a towel on the floor, she spread the rice over it and then knelt. It dug into her knees, her calves. She had an hour before Niall was scheduled to come get her. The pain would drive away anything but what was required of her.

Niall paused briefly on the Inherited Servants’ corridor. The small rooms reminded him of monk’s cells, each one with the bare minimum in furnishings, no pictures on the walls. It was a wholly different servant culture he knew little about, for all his three centuries as a vampire’s servant. Evan didn’t really run in the highbrow circles that included InhServs.

He did know they were an elite guard within the servant ranks, with a severe code when one of them fell short. Kind of overkill, to his way of thinking, given that most vampires were swift to hand out punishment when their servants erred. It further pissed him off to learn from the housekeeping staff that the rest of the InhServs had shunned her since her betrayal of Stephen. Even so, it was still unexpected to see the red S sign on her door. Painted in blood, a scent he recognized right off.

He remembered her writhing in pain, her eyes locked on nightmares no one else could see. Stephen had inflicted the torment on her to protect his worthless hide. Evan had taught him well enough to keep such thoughts to himself among other vampires, but it didn’t mean he’d take leave of his own code of right and wrong.

When he knocked, she called out to enter in a cultured voice, all soft and fine. He expected she had a bonny singing voice. She rose from the straight-backed chair where she’d been waiting for him behind one suitcase. The room was otherwise sterile, the bed made military-drum tight, the closet door open, showing it empty. She had her long, dark red hair clipped back, the strands falling all the way to her waist in a wealth of curls. He knew she had eyes dark and expressive as a deer’s, though of course they were lowered right now, the automatic deference she showed to everyone. She had the delicate fragility of a Fae sprite in her face, her willowy, beautiful body enhanced by the travel clothes of tailored brown skirt and formfitting buttercream sweater. The pair of heeled boots that came to just below her knee suited the chill Berlin weather.

He hadn’t seen her since they’d helped Lord Brian in his infirmary, so it was something to see her all put together like this, not sweating and out of her head, screaming and afraid. Brian said she’d stayed alive because she’d been commanded to do so. But Niall remembered the way her lips had curled back, revealing the rage inside the fear. Even if she wasn’t aware of it, there might be more to it than that.

Catching the scent of blood again, he narrowed his eyes. Before he zeroed in on the trash can, she explained, anticipating his question. “A punishment exercise. It broke the skin, but no worse than shaving cuts. You needn’t worry about the car seats.”

Oh, well, aye, that was my main concern. He held back the caustic response, remembering Evan’s admonition. Don’t mock her training. Inherited Servants are very different from servants that come to a vampire from . . . more random methods.

Evan had changed the subject then, because the memories associated with Niall’s “random” fate as his servant weren’t all pleasant, such that they both tended to leave that subject alone. More convenient for all concerned.

Get her here, and we’ll worry about the rest. That had been Evan’s primary directive. Time to get on with it, then.

She picked up the suitcase, but it was heavy for her, a reminder that the blocker gave her a human woman’s strength, not a third mark’s. In a world of fanged predators, it was a serious handicap. Humans connected with the vampire world were marked, not just to protect the secrets of that world, but to prevent a vampire’s mild flash of temper from breaking his servant’s neck.

“I’ll get that.”

“I’ll carry it.”

“Nae while I’m here.” When he closed his hand over hers, she stiffened like a startled deer, dropping the case on his foot.

“My apologies,” she said stiffly. “I’m not accustomed to another servant touching me when a vampire isn’t present to order it.”

“No worries, lass. My foot’s hard as my heid. Almost.” Giving her flushed cheeks a casual scrutiny, he thought there was more to her startled reaction than that. “Is that a forbidden thing, then?”

“Yes. Incidental brushes of contact can lead to other things, given how attuned servants are to the carnal appetites of their Masters and Mistresses. A Master or Mistress requires that all desire be centered or channeled through their orders, not the feelings or desires of the servant. It’s important for the servant to keep their focus at all times on their Master or Mistress.”

Niall blinked. “That’s a mouthful, lass. So you’re saying ye dinnae trust yourself to touch me.”

When her gaze snapped up, he gave her a charming smile, in spite of her haunted look that twisted his heart. “There you are. Lass, I dinnae know a thing about Inherited Servants. My run-o’-the-mill servant skills are shabby enough. But you’ve no need to worry about my manners. They’re rough, but I wouldnae force myself on an unwilling woman. You’re safe with me.”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of that. InhServs follow a strict code of conduct. It’s necessary for us to maintain the quality of our service. There’s no reason you should know about it, and I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I really can carry my case.”

“Why would a lady want to do that when she has a big clumsy bear like myself tae do it? I have to be useful somehow. Let’s get out o’ this damp hellhole.”

Her brows lifted, but she nodded. When he gestured to the door, she hesitated. Niall realized she wasn’t used to preceding anyone out a door.

“Go on,” he encouraged. “I want to keep you in sight. Otherwise, I might thump ye with this wee case. Plus,” he added, “a man enjoys watching the way a lass walks.”

She pressed her lips together. Evan had thought it would be easier for Niall to bring her home alone, give her time to talk servant-

to-servant. Niall was starting to think she’d be more at ease with the vampire, where every word was a gospel command, a safe structure.

“Has your Master sent any instructions for me?” she asked, underscoring it.

“To follow my direction as if it’s his own. If I tell ye to eat a triple-scoop chocolate fudge sundae and take a good long nap on the flight, that’s what you better have. He gets pretty worked up if we dinnae follow his instructions.”

He thought he saw something in the doe brown eyes—a flash of impatience or temper—but then it was replaced with resignation. A numbness he didn’t like. “Whatever your Master wills, I will follow. I am here to serve. You do not have to expend any effort toward my well-being.”

Surely the lass knew he was teasing her? Or had she thought he was mocking her?

Setting down the case, Niall saw her brief flash of alarm when he didn’t react as he was sure she’d hoped, taking the lead, getting her to the plane, no more conversation required. Instead, he moved to the trash can. Poking around, he saw the rice wrapped in a cloth. As she’d said, the cuts had been minor, the cloth marked with only a few drops of blood. “How’d they get blood for their sign?”

When she didn’t respond, he lifted his head, fixed his gaze on her. “You’ll want to answer me, lass,” he said.

Those lashes swept down, telling him she knew a command when she heard it. But it took her another second to get it out. “The first night I was back from the infirmary, they came in at dawn, cut my arm, made me draw the S. It is expected in such a situation.”

When he crossed the room and clasped her wrist, he could feel her fighting not to move. He pushed up the sweater sleeve and suppressed an oath. Had they used a bloody rusty steak knife? The jagged cut had been made over another mark, a fleur-de-lis enclosed in a circle of Latin script he couldn’t make out because of the wound. At some point the tattoo must have been infused with her Master’s blood to make it permanent, kept fresh with periodic re-inking. Evan did it to Niall’s own tattoos every so often; otherwise Niall’s third mark would re-knit skin, mar the design.

“What’s this writing? Beneath it?”

“My InhServ mark. The fleur-de-lis is enclosed by the motto Forever Bound; Blood, Body and Soul.”

Her voice was flat, though he expected at one time she’d explained it with reverence or even pride. Dropping to one knee, he eased up the hem of her skirt. Her knees and calves were raw and abraded from the sharp bits, but the few cuts were minor, as she said. Not like her arm. The blocker Lord Brian was giving her was likely impeding her third-mark ability to heal any wound quickly, but perhaps when Evan second-marked her, it would help.

Niall wrapped his fingers around her leg above her knee, noting how his rough, tanned fingers looked against that supple, silken flesh. Christ, she was a beauty, but she seemed more fragile now than when she’d been screaming and raging, Stephen doing his best to break her mind.

By walking on eggshells, he was making it worse. Well, hell with it. Evan always said he had more intuition than brains.

“Our Master doesnae like a servant hurting herself without his say so,” he said brusquely. “Ye haven’t earned a punishment from him; dinnae do this to yourself again. Aye?”