“Okay.” Gideon looked around, found a chair. He couldn't stand sitting at the door where she couldn't reach him, as if she were a wild beast he couldn't trust, no matter how close to the truth that might be.

Seeking a good compromise, he moved the chair around to the couch side and straddled it. The sofa was pressed up to the bars, so if she wanted him to do so, he could put his hand through the bars to touch her. Since the chains were almost at full extension at that point, it was an acceptable risk.

Turning, she folded her legs under herself and laid her temple on the sofa back. It was natural to reach through, stroke her hair. Her eyes closed again.

“I'm sorry, Anwyn,” he said quietly. “You don't know how much.” She didn't reply, but sat beneath his touch, not discouraging it. Her beautiful hair already felt like the tempting silk that all female vampires had.

There was a spot of blood on her shoulder, his blood, but he decided not to remark upon it right now.

“This reminds me of the time my parents took my brother and me on a cross-country trip,” he ventured.

“The first part of the trip, where we suddenly realized how many hours we'd be in the car, trying to figure out how we were going to pass the time.”

Her hand slid up, curled in the cushions. He would have covered it, but instinct told him to wait, to let her make the request or demand. “What did you do?” she asked, though her voice didn't reflect much interest.

“Magnetic chess and checkers. Mad Libs. You remember those? Short stories where different parts of the sentences were left blank. You'd tell the other person to give you a noun or verb, an adjective, et cetera. They'd give those to you, without knowing the story. When you read them back, with their words filled in, they'd make you laugh.”

“If I laughed right now, I'd feel like I was laughing at a funeral.”

“You didn't die, Anwyn. You're going to be okay.”

Her jaw tightened, her head lifting. “You abhor what I've become. You want all vampires dead. So why would you lie to me?”

“Because it would make you feel better to believe it. And I want you to feel better.” She stared at him. “You're an honest man. I'm not sure if I appreciate or hate that.”

“I've heard both opinions. Usually from the same people, so feel free to vacillate. You'll be in good company.” Spearing his fingers into the hair at her temple, he gripped her there to draw her attention.

“You didn't ask for this to happen.”

“So that makes it different, because I'm an accident rather than someone who embraced this?”

“Yeah.”

“Why does that make me think of someone who got AIDS through a blood transfusion instead of sex? I didn't ask for it, so . . .” Her voice drifted off, and a shudder went through her.

He knew where her mind had gone, to what had happened in the alley. Not to the turning, but the more insidious invasion of her person. Drawing away from his touch, she slid down the side of the couch to the floor and folded her arms over herself, bowing her head. “It's been a long time since I wanted to be dead,” she said in a voice that could have come from the grave, running chills down his spine. “Maybe I should have you go ahead and do it. Maybe that was why Fate brought you here.”

“Sorry; I've made my vampire kill this week. No new appointments until next week.” He said it lightly, but her words had clamped like a vise on his gut. Her arms shifted, linking beneath her knees, keeping the T-shirt pulled up to her thighs to retain her modesty. But when her head lowered farther, he thought she was mainly trying to make herself as small as possible.

Damn it, he didn't care about Daegan's warning. He knew she wasn't normally a morbid person, so he wasn't going to let her sink into the clutches of such black thoughts. Getting up, he took the key and unlocked the cell. Her head lifted only when he squatted in front of her, his boots inches from her bare toes.

“This is stupid,” she said. “I heard what Daegan said to you. And he's right. Gideon, I can feel it inside of me. It's like being seasick, feeling it coming and knowing you can't stop it.”

“I don't think a Mistress should be on the floor,” he said instead, giving her a steady look. “Why don't we get you back on the couch?”

“It's a sham, Gideon. It's all a stupid, stupid lie. Look at me.” That tremor went through her hands again.

He covered them with his own. Their coldness was frightening, but he remembered at times Jacob had been ice-cold as a corpse. Other times he'd burned like a denizen of hell. That might be his key. Keep a hand on her, and the body temperature would indicate when the bloodlust might be returning. Jacob's always came with heat.

“You're not a lie. You know I've been caught by vamps twice?” She shook her head. “No. I didn't know that.”

“You know the one thing they seemed most determined to do? They tortured me, yeah. Fire, whips, all the usual melodramatic movie props. But those were tools. They hurt and scared me. Big fucking deal.

You'd have to be dead not to be scared of that. But what they most wanted to do was make me doubt what I was. They wanted to take that away.”

Her face lifted to him then, and he met her gaze. “Those other ladies you sent, they were okay. Yeah, they were Dommes, but not down to the blood and bone. The minute you walked in, I felt what you are, all the way down to those fuck-me shoes you were wearing and wanted to grind into my ass. It was why you scared the shit out of me, because I knew you had the shovel. You were the one who could dig down into the rotting things I didn't want uncovered. That's not an act, Mistress. You can't fake who you are, what you become. No one can take that.”

Before he could regret the raw admission, she tightened her chin. “They hurt me. I hated that. But worse than that, I hated that theycould hurt me. I can't stop thinking about it.”

“I know. That's always what rips you open the most.” Sliding an arm around her back and under her knees, he lifted her onto the couch from a kneeling position, staying that way as he settled her, adjusting the chains leading from her arms and legs as best as he could. She pressed her fingers to her temples.

“If I'm not interested in Mad Libs, what else can we do to pass the time?” Her voice was soft, a vulnerable, tired woman needing distraction.

He cleared his throat. “Well, if you tell anyone, Iwill stake you, but I give a decent pedicure. Not that you really need one right now.” His glance went to her perfect toes, a mockery of what else had been done to her.

Regardless, the comment startled a short, strangled chuckle out of her. Anwyn put her hands down, regarded him with amusement. “Daegan will be so disappointed if we don't tell him. He loves to have his toenails painted.”

“Yeah, right.” At the flash of worry that crossed her face, he grimaced. “He'll be fine, Anwyn. I wouldn't want to be the thing standing between him and that blood.”

“I know.” She blew out a breath. “Female thing, to worry, I guess. I'm sorry. I know you think you should be out doing that, rather than babysitting me.”

“I'm where I need to be,” he said, covering her hand and letting her see the truth of it in his face. Before she could worry about it further, he latched onto an idea.

“How about Twenty Questions? That's one that kept us going for hours. In hindsight, it was a sneaky way for our parents to find out things about us we wouldn't tell them otherwise.”

“And hence a way to find out things about me that are none of your business?”

“Just finding a way to pass the time, Mistress.” He gave her a guileless look. Settling back into a cross-legged position on the floor, he brought his shins within inches of her small feet. He laid a hand on one, keeping tabs on her temperature, and forced himself not to caress the elegant arches and slim heels.

“Well in that case, I'll play only if you play. Question for a question.” Her gaze glimmered with that insight she'd wielded so well earlier. “If you're going to pump me for information, it's going to be equal time.”

“All right, but if you find out I sleep with a teddy bear, then we'll have to stop playing.” He stopped.

“Aw, fuck.”

Her smile was almost genuine, and it warmed him. “You have a sense of humor, Gideon. That's unexpected. Rusty, but charming.”

“Well, it's a muscle I don't work out much. You get first question.” She pursed her lips. “How does a fearsome vampire hunter know how to give a pedicure? And no lying or avoiding questions,” she added.

“A penalty for every lie, to be collected at a later time.” Heat shimmered under his hand. Taking a quick look at her face, he saw her focus had shifted internally, her hands closing into fists as perspiration collected on her lip. While Gideon felt a grim satisfaction at having his detection theory confirmed, it was short-lived.

“Hurts,” she managed.

“Breathe through it,” he said, moving carefully onto his heels. He knew he needed to get the hell out of range, but found himself unable to leave her when that panicked note was in her voice. “This is a transition seizure, different from the bloodlust. Right now, your internal organs are changing.”

“Oh, is that all?” she gasped, giving him a narrow glance.

“Jacob, my brother, had his at pretty consistent intervals the first few hours. We time the first two and we might know when the next ones are coming. For a while.”

“Like labor pains. And no, I've never had children.” A deep breath shuddered through her. “Talk. Tell me . . . Answer my question.”

“It was a hooker. She taught me.”

Anwyn tried to breathe through the pain as he suggested. It was an odd sensation, because breathing had become optional, requiring conscious thought. But the heat that licked at her insides wasn't anything she could stop. Like thunder, the pain was counting down toward the lightning strike, a place where madness would take her, those shadowy voices in her head getting stronger.

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