Marcus stood outside the bathroom door, hands clutching the frame on either side, head down. Inside, Ami was doing just as she had said she would: taking a shower.

He had tried his best to talk her into letting him see to her wounds first, but she had argued that, if he did, the bandages would just get wet when she showered and have to be replaced again.

Sighing, he raised his head, straightened, and glanced around her bedroom.

It surprised him. He had expected to see open suitcases with clothing either haphazardly spilling out or neatly folded in piles. Her banker boxes, he’d assumed, would be stacked against the wall or on the chair in the corner, perhaps a lid or two off to expose the contents. He had thought he would find a room in transition. A room that would reflect the same lack of contentment he’d felt with this situation, hope of being reassigned to another immortal, or a reluctance to admit this might be permanent.

But everything was unpacked. The boxes and suitcases were gone, stored in the attic for all he knew. Through the open closet door, he saw jeans, cargo pants, and shirts hanging. A coat. No dresses or skirts as far as he could tell. Beneath them, on the floor, neatly lined up in a row, were combat boots, black Converse Chuck Taylor high-top sneakers, and fuzzy slippers that looked like tiger paws. (He grinned when he spotted the last.) All were so small they looked to him like children’s shoes.

Not one pair of high heels or delicate pumps rested among them, he noted.

Perhaps she was like Bethany. Beth had always rolled her eyes over the rack-after-rack-of-designer-shoe stereotype the media so often applied to women.

Why would I want to spend hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars on a pair of designer shoes that look like something my grandmother used to wear in the seventies? she would ask as she laced up her comfortable sneakers. Besides, where would I wear them?

Marcus paused. For the second time since Ami’s arrival, thoughts of Bethany had not been accompanied by feelings of grief or desolation. Only fondness.

Damn Seth for being right all the time, he mentally grumbled, uncomfortable with the relief the discovery spawned.

The rest of the room looked much as it had before Ami’s arrival. A full-sized bed with a white comforter. Matching bedside tables on either side. A dresser. A chair. Same old same old, except now pictures of Seth, David, and Darnell decorated the various surfaces.

More insight into Ami’s character. She took responsibility seriously. She had been assigned to be his Second and, come hell or high water, she was going to do it. Even if he childishly attempted to make her life miserable. The tidy room around him was as much a demonstration of her refusal to back down from a fight as their clash with the vampires had been.

On the other side of the bathroom door, a squeak sounded as the faucet turned and water ceased flowing. Sounds of Ami stepping from the shower and rubbing a towel over her body reached his sensitive ears. As beautiful as Ami was, Marcus felt no arousal as he imagined it. He was too obsessed with the wounds she no doubt dabbed, the white towel turning pink with the blood that still seeped from them.

“Ami?” he called through the wood.

A thunk sounded. “Ow!”

“What happened? Are you all right?”

“You startled me,” came her disgruntled reply. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be downstairs feeding?”

Yes, but he had been too afraid to leave her, worried she might lose consciousness from blood loss or become dizzy and slip and fall. “I’m fine,” he lied. “Let me in.”

“No!” she exclaimed in a scandalized voice. “I’m naked!”

Okay. He was a worm. He was slime. He was pond scum. He was the bacteria that fed on pond scum. Because he couldn’t keep his body from reacting to her declaration. He had been doing very well, keeping it all professional, then those words from her lips and ... images of a naked Ami sans wounds bombarded his weary male brain and ...

Yeah, he was pond scum.

“Come on, Ami. I’m not asking you to let me feel you up. I’m asking you to let me in so I can see to your wounds.”

“I can take care of them myself.”

Damned stubborn woman. “Even the ones on your back?” He didn’t even know if she had any on her back, but thought it worth a shot.

A pause. “I’m naked,” she repeated hesitantly.

“Please stop saying that,” he entreated, stifling a groan. The last thing he needed while his body struggled to heal his own wounds was for what little blood remained to all rush to his groin. As it now appeared to be doing. “Look, I ... Hold on.”

He crossed to the dresser and opened drawers until he located lingerie. Grabbing the tan underwire bra on top of one tidy stack and the white bikini panties from another, he returned to the door.

Marcus even liked her underwear. He had once had an intimate arrangement with a woman who had refused to let him see her in lingerie that wasn’t lacy or didn’t match. Flowery push-up bras and thong panties, which he just thought of as dental floss for asses. He wasn’t sure why women thought men cared about that sort of thing. Ask any man if he would rather see a woman naked or in sexy underwear and the unanimous answer would be: naked.

When Marcus saw a woman in her underwear, he didn’t condemn it for being too plain or two different colors or cotton instead of silk. He was too busy calculating how swiftly he could remove it. The fewer bows and ties and tiny fastenings the better.

“Ami,” he called, “wrap yourself in a towel and open the door.”

“You are not seeing me naked!”

“Stop reminding me you’re naked,” he commanded, exasperated.

“Why?”

The innocence and perplexity that infused the question surprised Marcus so much that he lost his train of thought.

“Marcus?”

“What? Oh. Just stay behind the door and open it five inches. I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Silence.

A faint shuffle of feet on tile.

The doorknob turned—it hadn’t even been locked?—and the door opened the requested five inches.

Closing his eyes, Marcus thrust the fist clutching the undies inside. “Here. Hurry up and put these on. I don’t want you losing any more blood.”

Her delicate fingers plucked the offering from his palm. Marcus withdrew his hand and let her close the door again.

He could hear every movement as she dropped the towel and donned the scanty garments and felt his arousal cool a little more with every hiss or gasp that escaped her as cloth scraped cuts and movement evoked pain.

The door swung open.

Bathed in the bright light of the stone-tiled room, Ami regarded him uncertainly. After donning the bra and panties, she had once more wrapped herself in the towel. And, just as Marcus had feared, the white fluffy cotton boasted numerous pink splotches.

“Drop it,” he said, motioning to the towel.

Her bruised chin jutted forward stubbornly. “I can take care of myself.”

“You aren’t supposed to take care of yourself,” he told her. “We’re supposed to take care of each other. That’s what Immortal Guardians and their Seconds do.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand to forestall it. “You did your job earlier and saved my ass. Now let me do mine and take care of yours.”

A moment passed, during which they merely stared at each other.

“Please,” he added.

With visible reluctance, she dropped the towel. Marcus swore.

If the vampires who had attacked her hadn’t already been dead, he would have hunted them down and killed them slowly.

The two deepest cuts—the one on her thigh and the other on her hip—had been pinched together with butterfly closures. Her tan bra cupped beautiful, full breasts, but was already acquiring a red stain on the front left strap. Too damn close to her heart. Her white bikini panties hugged nicely rounded hips and had pink fingerprints on the thin sides. The pale skin of Ami’s face, shoulders, chest, arms, narrow waist, thighs, knees, and calves sported too many cuts to count and were riddled with dark bruises. Her fiery red hair hung in straggles that looked brown while wet, the occasional droplet forming at the end of a lock, then trailing down her skin.

More bruises on her forehead, chin, and cheek matched the dark circles under her eyes as she stared up at him.

She looked so heartbreakingly fragile.

“Turn around,” he murmured.

She did.

Marcus clenched his teeth to stifle more curses when he saw the ragged red line that raked from the top of one shoulder across to the bottom of the opposite shoulder blade. Another swept across her right kidney. Her round, firm ass appeared unblemished. At least there were no pink or red stains on her panties that would indicate seeping injuries. But the backs of her thighs bore red zebra stripes.

“I wasn’t fast enough,” he gritted out.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What?”

“I didn’t reach you fast enough to guard your back.”

“Well,” she replied placidly, “you were a bit busy, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Shaking his head, vowing to do better the next time—please, don’t let there be a next time—Marcus washed his hands, then reached for the large tube of antibiotic ointment that lay on the counter beside the sink.

“Is it ... is it bad?” she asked. “It didn’t look that bad in the mirror.”

Kneeling behind her, he gently coated every cut with the ointment. Oddly, they were all what immortals would consider superficial wounds. None deep enough really to require stitches. “It looks like it hurts like hell,” he commented nevertheless. Cuts of any depth tended to hurt like a bitch, especially when doused with water. Her shower must have been tortuous. “Does it?” He glanced up in time to see her clench her jaw.

“I’ve had worse.”

Worse than this?

When he finished tending all the cuts in view, Marcus clasped her hips and turned her to face him.

He really didn’t like the looks of that gash on her hip, though it didn’t appear to be as deep as he had initially thought. “Let me call Roland,” he entreated. “He can be here in half an hour and heal all of these wounds for you in minutes.” Marcus had often wished he had been born with a more useful gift like Roland’s ability to heal with his hands or even Roland’s lesser telekinetic ability. What the hell good was seeing ghosts?

“What makes you think he would come?” she countered.

“He’s my friend.” Marcus was the only one Roland had allowed close to him until Sarah. “If I ask, he’ll come.”

“No, thank you.”

Many butterfly closures, adhesive bandages, and a great deal of gauze later, he finished tending her legs and rose. Opening one of the lower cabinets, he retrieved another towel, shook it out, then folded it twice and spread it on the counter next to the sink.

Facing Ami, Marcus settled his hands on her waist. Her breath caught as her eyes flew up to meet his. Lifting her slight weight, he set her on the now-cushioned counter and stepped back.

“Now for the rest of you,” he murmured.

As he went to work on the rest of the cuts, something kept nagging at him.

Marcus frowned. It was the bruises. The many, many bruises that coated her. They shouldn’t be such a deep shade of purple-black. Not yet. Not this quickly.

An idea began to form.

If he checked the bruises in a few hours, would they already be fading to brown, then greenish yellow? Were her body’s healing abilities accelerated?

That wound on her hip really had looked worse when he had checked it on the hood of the Prius. Were the cuts and gashes he had just doctored as miraculously superficial as they seemed? Or had they been worse when inflicted and already begun to close?

“Ami, are you a gifted one?”

Her eyes shifted away from his. “Why would you ask that?”

“It’s your bruises.” His touch featherlight, he slid his fingers over a couple of the dozen that colored her forearm, then took her hand. “They’re so dark already. I thought it took longer for humans’ bruises to gain their full color.”

Staring down at their clasped hands, she shrugged. “I guess I just bruise easily.” Tentatively, Ami smoothed her thumb across the back of his hand.

A little spark zipped through him. Marcus swallowed. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bastard.”

Her gaze met his, bright with surprise and something else he couldn’t decipher. “You haven’t been—”

“Yes, I have,” he interrupted. “But that’s over. Tonight ...” He shook his head. “No Second has ever fought more fiercely. No Second has ever risked so much to protect me. To aid me. It truly was an honor to have you at my back.”

Her lips tilted up. “Thank you.”

“Do you think we could start over again?” he asked. “Or has my stint as a surly old curmudgeon driven you away?”

Her small smile turned into a grin. “We can start over.”

“Good.” Stepping back, he readjusted his grip on her hand and shook it formally. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Marcus Grayden, and I am in dire need of a Second.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus. My name is Amiriska, and I believe I’m just what you’ve been looking for.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

He brought her hand to his lips. “Then it appears we have an accord.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, her breath emerging on a sigh. Then, every muscle going limp, Ami pitched forward.

Startled, Marcus locked his arms around her and held her against his chest, her lower half still seated on the counter. “Ami?” He gave her a little shake. “Ami?”

Shifting her so she lay against his arm, he brushed the damp hair back from her face.

Eyes closed, Ami didn’t respond.

Had she lost too much blood? Was she going into shock?

Marcus scooped her up off the counter, carried her into the bedroom, and, yanking the covers down, laid her gently in the bed. As soon as he drew the covers back up to her chin, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Seth’s number.

It went directly to voice mail.

Swearing foully, he started to dial Roland’s number, then remembered Ami’s strong aversion to the idea, as well as her refusal to go to the network to be cared for by their doctors.

He really would rather not violate her trust so swiftly.

Frustrated, he texted Seth: Answer your fucking phone! Ami needs you!

Cursing, Seth slipped his cell phone back into his pocket and surveyed the fog-enshrouded clearing around him with impatience. After their little conversation earlier, he didn’t think Marcus was screwing around. And, coming so soon after the call from Reordon (Chris hadn’t left a message), it spawned a great deal of concern.

Why did this meeting have to take place tonight of all nights?

And why did all hell break loose every time Seth turned his back or took one hour—just one hour—off to handle personal business?

A chilly mist hovered around his ankles. Majestic mountains rose all around him, tall trees surging upward and trying to pierce the sliver of a moon that smiled down at him.

As far as locations went, this was a pretty one. Dark. Isolated. The air fresh and less tainted by pollution.

The clearing itself was small and almost perfectly round, giving one the feeling of standing in the bottom of a leafy green abandoned missile silo.

A soft whupping sound tickled his ears.

Finally.

Seconds later, a figure stepped from the shadows of the trees and strolled forward.

Tall. Taller than Seth by a couple of inches. Dark, wavy hair past his shoulders. Chest bare. Black leather pants hanging low on his hips. He reminded Seth of a buffer Jim Morrison.

“I’m under a bit of a time constraint,” Seth said without preamble, “so if we could get through this as quickly as possible I would appreciate it.”

A grim smile twisted the man’s lips. “Hello to you, too, Cousin.”

“Since you only contact me when you have a bug up your ass, I thought I’d get right to the point. What’s the problem?”

His countenance darkened. “Your little immortal superheroes are fucking up.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “Did one of them venture too close to your little hideaway?”

His face tightened. “Such would be unwise.”

“Then what?” Seth remained still as the other approached and walked a slow circle around him.

“Did you really think we didn’t know about last year’s uprising?”

“Of course you knew,” Seth replied. “Isn’t that all you and the other hens in your sewing circle do? Sit around and gossip?”

A low growl rumbled from the other man’s throat.

“You also know we quelled it.”

“Did you?” He stopped in front of Seth.

“Yes.”

“Then why has word of the uprising encircled the globe?”

“Urban myth spouted in Internet chat rooms. Nothing more.”

The man shook his head. “You may not be able to see the future, but there are those among us who can. And the shit is about to hit the fan.”

Seth’s interest sharpened. “What do you know?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Seth snorted. “That’s right. You don’t interfere. You don’t participate. You merely observe.” He raised a mocking brow. “And yet ... here you are. Has something changed?”

“Our existence must remain a secret. You know why.”

“I know the excuse you use for sitting around with your thumb up your—”

“Don’t test me, Seth,” he growled. “I’m here as a favor to you. Because if you don’t get this shit under control, the others will annihilate you, your Immortal Guardians, and the human network you’ve constructed.”

“You can try,” Seth rejoined. In truth, he was not at all certain who the victor would be in such a war. “But you might want to keep in mind that, while you all have been sitting and watching, I’ve been growing and exercising my powers and increasing my strength.”

His visitor shook his head and began to back away. “No one can know who you are. Once they find out about you, it’ll only be a matter of time before they find out about us. We aren’t going to let that happen.”

“Because you’re all about covering your own asses,” Seth commented wryly. “Or you were. I can’t help but wonder if your being here tonight might indicate a change of heart.”

The man said nothing, just continued to walk backward.

“The numbness wouldn’t happen to be wearing off, would it? Or boredom be setting in? Thinking of joining our ranks and diving into life instead of simply observing it?” he taunted.

The man stopped, flexed his shoulders. A pair of wings sprang from his back and spread behind him. Nearly translucent, they would span twelve feet when fully extended. The feathers that graced them were the same tan as his skin at their base and gradually darkened to black at their tips.

“Just end this, Seth.”

Bending his knees, he leapt up as those powerful wings swept down, propelling him like a rocket into the night sky, where he vanished amongst the clouds rolling in.

Before Seth could ponder the odd and admittedly unsettling turn of events, his cell phone vibrated again.

“What?” he answered.

“Where the hell have you been?” Marcus shouted in his ear.

Seth teleported, following voice, thoughts, and cell signal to Marcus’s guest bedroom. Ami lay still beneath the covers, eyes closed, her face bruised and swelling in a couple of places. Bloody and disheveled, Marcus paced beside the bed in great, agitated strides.

As soon as he saw Seth, Marcus pocketed his phone and repeated, “Where the hell have you been? You can’t threaten me with death and dismemberment if any harm comes to Ami then turn your back on her yourself! She needed you! Where the fuck were you?”

Seth could hear Ami’s heartbeat: slow and steady. Her breathing: deep and even. “What happened?” He moved to sit beside her on the bed.

Marcus continued to pace, raking his hands through disheveled hair as fury and fear poured off him in waves. “Ami showed up just after you left, and thirty-four vampires attacked us!”

Seth regarded him with shock. “Thirty-four? All vampires? No minions?”

“All vampires. Your bloody network has been infiltrated. I will never criticize Roland’s paranoia again, because his shit was dead on.”

Marcus was really wound up, all set for a nice, long rant by the looks of it, and Seth wasn’t entirely clear why. It couldn’t be the battle. Marcus lived for those kinds of challenges now. He should be riding high. Yet ...

“What was that about the network?” Seth placed one hand on Ami’s forehead and the other on her chest.

“Fuck the network,” Marcus snapped. “Is Ami going to be okay? She doesn’t have a concussion, does she? Has she lost too much blood? She’s lost too much blood, hasn’t she? I knew it!”

Blinking, Seth stared at Marcus. This was concern for Ami? Marcus had practically begged Seth to take her off his hands only an hour earlier.

“Well?” Marcus prodded.

Seth didn’t know what to make of it. Marcus’s head appeared to be firmly back on his shoulders where it should be. Yet Seth hadn’t expected such a swift, extreme turnaround.

“She’s fine.”

“She isn’t fine! Look at her!”

Seth did. His hands heated. The cuts and scratches on her exposed face, neck, and arms shrank, faded to scars, then vanished altogether, leaving only the butterfly closures, gauze bandages, and a few spots of dried blood. The bruises transformed from purplish black to brown, then tan, then yellowish green, and disappeared without a trace.

A relieved sigh wafted from Marcus. “Thank you. I wanted to take her to Roland, but she refused. She wouldn’t agree to see one of the doctors at the network either.”

“Ami has an aversion to doctors that borders on ... well, I was going to say fear, but it’s really more like hatred.”

“Roland isn’t a doctor.”

“No. But all Ami knows of Roland is what she has witnessed during his visits with Sebastien.” Which were notoriously violent.

Marcus winced.

“Exactly.”

“Why isn’t she waking? Are you sure she’s healed?”

“Yes, this is actually a good sign.”

“What do you mean?”

Seth smiled. “She’s sleeping.”

Marcus looked at him with Yeah? And? stamped on his face. Then ... “Oh. Are you saying she feels safe with me now?”

“Yes.”

Marcus seated himself on the other side of the bed and fussed with Ami’s covers.

“Tell me what you meant when you said the network has been infiltrated,” Seth said, watching his every movement.

Slim chose that moment to stroll into the room. Leaping limberly onto the bed, he offered his partially bald head to both Seth and Marcus for a rub, then settled himself on Ami’s chest.

“I called Reordon after you left,” Marcus told Seth, as he stroked the purring cat’s back. “He called someone named Marion and told him to come pick up the Busa and give me a ride. Five minutes later, dozens of vampires descended upon me. Upon us. Ami was with me by then.”

Chris Reordon was as loyal as they came. Seth knew he wasn’t the one who had deceived them. And Chris rigorously screened everyone he allowed into the network. All of his people should be trustworthy. Yet ...

“You should have been there, Seth,” Marcus murmured, a wealth of admiration in his voice. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Vampires poured from the trees in an endless stream, and she didn’t hesitate to take them on. Not even after I shoved her into the car and ordered her to leave. Thirty-four, Seth. I could name dozens of immortals who would quail at those numbers.”

“I wouldn’t call it quailing,” Seth countered. “More like demonstrating intelligence and a genuine desire to live.”

Marcus ignored the sarcastic rebuttal. “Even as exhausted as she must have been, Ami fought as fiercely and expertly as any Immortal Guardian.”

Seth grinned, chest swelling with pride. “I told you she could kick your ass.”

Marcus laughed. “I believe she could.”

And damned if he didn’t sound a bit smitten when he said it.

That was a little disturbing.

“Is there anything I can do for her?” Marcus asked, brushing damp hair back from Ami’s temple.

“No. She’ll sleep a day or so until she’s rested and has regained her strength.”

“What about ... uh ...” Unbelievably, a flush crept up Marcus’s neck.

“Don’t worry about it. The last time this happened, she walked in her sleep and took care of her own needs if nature called.”

“Oh. Good. That’s ... actually a little weird.”

Seth shrugged. “So is seeing dead people.”

“Point taken.”

“She won’t really be sleepwalking anyway. She’ll just be somewhere between sleeping and waking, completely responsive and capable of speaking and reacting as if she were fully conscious, but she won’t retain any memory of what she says or does when she is rested enough to wake fully.”

“Hmm. I knew a knight like that once. You could rouse him from a sound sleep, ask him a question, and he would answer it clearly, go back to sleep, and have no memory of it the next morning. It actually led to quite a few pranks at his expense.”

“I trust you won’t resort to such with Ami.”

Marcus frowned. “Of course not.”

“Good.” Seth rose. “I’d better go talk to Reordon. He’ll be furious when he finds out one of his own may be conspiring with vampires. Then I’ll see if I can’t get to the bottom of what happened.”

Nodding, Marcus rose. “You know, for a moment earlier, I thought Ami might have been infected.”

Seth stiffened. “She was bitten?” Ami’s physiology was different, neither human nor gifted one. He wasn’t sure what the virus might do to her.

“No-no. It’s just ... Those bruises formed so quickly and her cuts ... I thought she might be healing at an accelerated rate.”

A question hung in the words.

Seth chose his own carefully. “Some people bruise more easily than others,” he said with a shrug. It wasn’t a lie. Some people did. If Ami wanted to tell Marcus the truth, she would.

Reaching out, Seth placed his hand on Marcus’s chest and siphoned away his wounds and pain. He also peeked at Marcus’s memories of the battle and shuddered at how close to death Ami had come.

It was a hell of a thing. Seth had promised to protect her, then placed her directly in danger’s path.

Marcus rolled his shoulders and drew in a long, deep breath, probably the first since Seth had broken his ribs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You look like hell. Grab yourself some blood and a shower and take tomorrow night off.” He didn’t want Ami left unprotected while she recuperated.

“All right.”

No arguments? Really?

Why did that leave Seth feeling so uneasy?

Offering a last good night, he teleported himself to Chris Reordon’s office.

Screams of pain filled Ami’s head. Agonized. Full of despair. So many she lost count.

Hour after hour. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

Strange, how they paused each time she drew in a jagged breath, even though she didn’t voice them aloud. Never aloud. Never again. Even if she could unlock her tightly clenched teeth.

Shivers racked her bare body. The cold steel against her back was wintry, the manacles at her wrists and ankles like blocks of ice. Even the leather strap stretched tight across her forehead was cold.

Why had she come here? She had been warned that humans would greet her with violence, but naively had hoped for warmth and friendship. Curiosity, perhaps.

Well, they had indeed greeted her with curiosity. But it was a vile, sadistic curiosity that she could never have imagined.

She tried to look around, but couldn’t move and, thus, could see very little. As usual, the monsters covered their hair and faces with green masks and caps. Their hands bore semiclear protective gloves when they swam into her range of vision.

Her torturers spoke behind those masks, but she couldn’t hear them. She had heard nothing but her own mental cries since they had deafened her an hour earlier.

One of the butchers leaned over and dangled a tool in front of her eyes that looked like something one might use to cut flowers or trim small tree branches. His eyes crinkled at their edges, smiling with such malice.

He hated her, took pleasure in hurting her. She wished she could understand why.

Ami followed his progress with dread as he circled the table and stood by her right side. His soft fingers—so warm compared to her own—slipped beneath hers, and lifted them from the steel surface.

What felt like the blade of a knife touched the underside of her pinky finger. Another touched the top. Agony shot through her hand and up her arm. More screams erupted in her head.

What had he done?

He leaned over her again to show her something, eyes taunting and watching her closely.

She struggled to focus on the small, pale, blurry ovals pinched between his thumb and index finger. The indistinct objects looked as though he had dipped one end in something red.

She didn’t know what they were, why he wanted her to see them, until he turned them over and she saw the nails.

Her fingers. He had cut off her two smallest fingers at the first knuckle.

Silent wails of anguish echoed within the confines of her skull. Roars of fury. Prayers for death. Vows of vengeance. Coherent thought fled, replaced by the spitting, slathering ramblings of an animal kicked once too often.

Then, amidst the madness: a voice. Deep. Calm. Soothing. One she had heard before and labeled a meaningless manifestation of her slowly fragmenting mind.

We are here, it said. He said. Louder. Almost as if he stood just outside the room. We will be with you soon, little one, and will take you far away from here.

Her mind silenced.

Just a little longer, then you will be free.

A cruel trick. Nothing more. Yet she begged the voice to hurry. To do as he promised and set her free. Or kill her and end her misery.

A scalpel sank into her chest, pressed deep, then began carving a path down between her breasts.

Tears welled. The bright white lights above her wavered, then solidified as the moisture spilled down her temples and her vision cleared.

Cold metal slipped into this newest wound, cracked her chest open, and left it gaping wide, her heart exposed to the monsters hovering around her.

Yes, only death would end this, she decided. She only wished she could take the monsters with her.

It was her last coherent thought before scalding electricity burned through her and everything went white.

Marcus couldn’t recall ever having seen someone become trapped within the confines of a nightmare before.

It wasn’t like in the movies. Ami’s head didn’t thrash back and forth on her pillow. She didn’t toss and turn and become entangled in the sheets. She didn’t speak or call out. She didn’t suddenly lurch into a sitting position and wake with a horrified scream.

Somehow what she did seemed so much worse than the fictionalized versions. Had he not been watching her as closely as he had been for the past ten hours, he wouldn’t even have noticed the nightmare ensnare her.

Ami lay on her back, as she had for most of the day. Her breathing hitched once, twice, thrice as though she were sobbing so hard in her dreams that her physical body couldn’t help but manifest a response. Her eyes moved restlessly behind pale, closed lids. Tears welled in the corners, then spilled over her lashes and quietly trailed down her temples. Her body twitched. Such a slight movement. Hardly discernible. Her hands clenched in the covers, clutching the soft material so tightly her knuckles whitened.

The vaguest trace of a whimper sounded deep in her throat. It hinted of pain. And fear.

Of what did she dream?

Unsure how to help her, Marcus reached out and cupped his hand over her forearm, gave it a light, reassuring stroke.

Her whole body jerked. Her eyes opened, blinked, sought his face in the dim room. “What?” she asked, as though they had been conversing and she hadn’t quite caught the last thing he had said.

“You were having a nightmare,” he whispered.

“Oh.”

She sat up, dislodging his hand, and shoved the covers down. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she stood, walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

Marcus didn’t think she was aware of her own nakedness and sorely wished he hadn’t noticed it himself. Once Seth had left, Marcus had removed her bra, panties, and bandages and sponged the dried blood off of her.

Ami had a beautiful body. Slender. Athletic. Muscles honed from her training, but neither bulky nor masculine. Narrow waist. Flat abs. Full hips. Round, firm ass. Breasts large enough to fill his hands.

Pure perfection.

No matter how much clothing she wore in the future, every time he looked at her he would be helpless against imagining her like this. Which meant he would spend the entirety of her years as his Second with a raging erection.

Lovely. How the hell would he hide it from her?

The toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink. The bathroom door opened, and Ami shuffled over and climbed back into bed.

Swallowing hard, Marcus rose and leaned over her to draw the covers up to her chin.

One of her hands reached out and captured his. Intertwining their fingers, she sighed and rolled away from him, taking his hand with her.

Marcus stood for a moment, back bent, hand now tucked against her chest as she slipped into slumber.

Awkward.

“Screw it,” he muttered. He was exhausted and could use some sleep himself. Lowering himself to the mattress, he slipped beneath the covers and spooned up behind her.

Perhaps his presence would keep her nightmare from returning.

Yes, of course it would.

At least, that was what he told himself as he buried his face in her hair and nestled closer.

Ami woke, instantly alert. Rested. No aches or pains. No fear or anxiety. Warm.

So warm.

“Go back to sleep,” a deep voice murmured in her ear. “It was just a nightmare.”

For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Marcus was in her bed, his hard body spooned up behind her, one arm tucked around her and clutching hers near her chest, his wrist brushing her breast. His breath tickled the back of her neck and stirred her hair as he yawned and cuddled closer.

“Marcus?”

“Hmm?” He sounded like he was half asleep.

“What’s going on?”

She had never been this close to a man before. Every inch of Marcus’s front—covered in some soft, thin material—was pasted to every inch of her back. Her bare back. And it felt ... so good.

No wonder such close contact had been forbidden her.

Leaning up on one elbow, Marcus withdrew his hand and urged her to roll onto her back.

Ami stared up at him, heart racing. His lids were at half mast, his jaw heavily stubbled. His long, raven hair was deliciously tousled, dangling in his face and giving him a handsome, piratical look not unlike Jack Sparrow.

“Are you awake?” he asked, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

“Yes,” she answered.

He pursed his lips and squinted playfully. “You seem awake.”

She raised one eyebrow. “As opposed to when I seem asleep?”

He grinned. “You’re definitely awake. How do you feel?”

When he sat up, she saw that he was wearing a thin gray T-shirt and worn black sweatpants. She also saw the entirety of her bare breasts and stomach as the covers fell back with him.

Gasping, she grabbed the sheet and yanked it up to her chin.

“Oh.” He shifted around a bit to give her more material to work with and drew the blanket over his lap. “Sorry about that.”

Heat climbing her cheeks, she nodded, then froze.

Her bruises were gone. And her cuts. And he had seen it. Why wasn’t he asking her how she had healed so quickly?

“I didn’t betray you and call Roland,” Marcus said, watching her. “Seth healed you.”

Thank goodness. “He did? When?”

“While you were sleeping.”

“Oh.”

“I ...” He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, and motioned to the bed they occupied. “I was worried about you. Seth told me you would be fine, but ... I was reluctant to leave you until you woke up. And you were having nightmares. I thought ... hoped ... my presence would soothe you.”

“Did it?” she asked curiously.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” The first time Darnell had awoken her from a nightmare, she had come up swinging. “I didn’t hit you, did I? Or tell you about the dreams?” The memories?

“No.”

Good.

“Thank you, Ami,” Marcus said softly. “I didn’t have the chance to say it before.”

“For what?” she asked, perplexed. She had been nothing but a pain in his backside ever since Seth had assigned her to him.

“For saving my life. I could never have stood alone against so many vampires. If you had left as I’d urged you to, they would have either captured me or destroyed me.”

And if she had left, some of those vampires could very well have followed and killed her, though that hadn’t been what had driven her to stay. “I think we saved each other last night,” she told him with a smile.

“Actually it was the night before last. You’ve slept the clock around. And are no doubt famished.” Patting her covered knee, he turned away and stood with his back to her. “I’ll go fix us some brunch.”

He left without looking back.

Odd. Almost the entire time he had been talking to her, she could’ve sworn his eyes had possessed a mild glow.

What did it mean?