FicWad

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tynan lie in bed naked, propped against the fluffy pillows, and gave her best effort at eating the feast Faelen had ordered for her: poached oysters in champagne sauce with spinach and prosciutto, Eggs Benedict smothered in herb Hollandaise, sausage-potato pies, thin-sliced, sautéed flank steak, cranberry scones, and melon slices. She didn’t feel pressed to pull herself together because she’d heard him discussing a night flight over the phone with his pilot. They wouldn’t leave until tonight.

When she finished, she stacked the remains in the floor, finished her juice and snuggled back down to watch the rain. A few minutes past. She heard Faelen return and rolled over to face him. He wore his hair down, a black stitched, black shirt that gave the impression of having come from some Eastern country, black leather jeans and black boots. Memories of the night flooded her. Her stomach fluttered.

“I almost hate to go,” she confessed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back.”

He sat beside her on the bed, tucked a lock of hair over her shoulder. Gazing at her with those lion’s eyes, he replied, “Of course you will. I have the apartment.” A frown furrowed his intelligent brow for a moment. “If you don’t want to go back there, I’ll put it on the market and find another. We‘ll come often as you like.”

Tynan made an unladylike sound of exasperation and flopped onto her back. She’d given this speech to herself at least fifty times already. Maybe hearing it out loud would help her, too.

“Why can’t you understand? There’s no real future for us. I appreciate everything you’ve done: bringing me here, finding my family.” By force of will she pushed back the sting the words inflicted. “You’ve shown me a wonderful time.” She sighed, added almost under breath, “Dead vampire assassins and invisible intruders aside.” Then went on, “But, we’re like a one time baseball team that plays great, major league great, and still, come fall, it’s over.”

After a few minutes of silence, he said, “We’ve an afternoon appointment to keep.”

She turned to face him again. “I get the feeling you didn’t listen.”

“I did. I listened to your breathing change as you began, then your heartbeat quicken when you mentioned your family. I heard your thighs brush beneath the sheets. I hear everything.” He tugged the sheet down from her breasts with a proprietary casualness. “I’d rather you asked for more than thanked me.”

She started to cover herself with a pillow, then saw a better use for it. It made a satisfying whack across his wide chest. “I refuse to ruin my last day in London trying to penetrate that thick skull of yours. When is the appointment and where?”

“Bond Street, one fifteen sharp, with Madam Yvette de la Croix.”

Her interest piqued. “Sounds like a fortune teller or something.”

“In a way she is.” Faelen’s expression shuttered, but traces of humor came through in his tone.

“Meaning in more ways she isn’t.”

A hint of amusement lifted the corners of his mouth. His dimples deepened. “Get ready,” he dared, “and discover for yourself.”



Tynan took Faelen’s big, dark-skinned hand and stepped out of the car. Although the rain had stopped, the sky remained ominous, the air damp and cold upon the skin.
Beyond the bustling sidewalk stood an unassuming shop front with a purple lacquered sign hanging above the matching door.

“Yvette’s,” she read, “How original.”

He sent Stanfield away with a slap to the top of the car. “Shall we?”

A big, intimidating wall of muscle which she identified as doorman admitted them and locked the door behind. “Mr. Cairo, madam waits in the main salon,” the wall said in a musical Scottish brogue. The joker must top seven feet.

“Thank you, Angus.”

She dragged her eyes from the mountainous fellow. They stood in a foyer of sorts, decorated in shades of heather purple and slate, furnished with a few overstuffed chairs and a gurgling fountain that softened the feel. The faint and elusive fragrance of spicy lavender flirted with her, seemed to come from everywhere. Only a woman would use scent like that, she thought. A clever one.

Faelen lead her into a second, larger version of the former room. Here a silver cocktail cart added further appeal.

Tynan noted he moved with ease, like man who knew the place well. A faint inner alarm sounded. Every where her eyes touched she saw beauty and luxury. Down to the antique books resting on a gilded iron shelf, the place gratified the senses. Ilsa probably lived like this.

“Tell me again why we’re here, Faelen.” She became very aware of having walked into this blind . The term ‘madam’ could prove literal.

He placed his hand upon the ornate gold handle of a fabric covered door. “I never told you a first time.”

“My point exactly.” Before she could dig in her heels and twist free of his grasp, she saw him open the door and the beautiful sight beyond it.

Her first impression was of light and life. After a moment, she saw the huge skylights letting in the stormy light and the towering candelabrums of lavender tapers in the salon beyond. The first eight feet or so of the room was fashioned into a miniature mangrove, complete with adorable little spotted sharks and tropical fish swimming in crystalline shallow water. Characteristic trees with exaggerated roots, tropical greenery and flowering plants lined the walls. Those she saw had been painted to perpetuate the scenery. It created a tranquil, yet stimulating atmosphere.

She gazed down at the sunken pool, enchanted by the marine life. As she did, she saw short wide marble columns offering themselves as stepping stones. Before she realized she meant to accept their offer, she had crossed them.

On the other side of the ‘mangrove’, she turned to gaze back the way she’d come. Faelen came forward without looking down, sure footed as a panther and twice as intimidating. Caught up in the moment, Tynan backed away to give him room to step onto the less treacherous ground. She felt a tingling pride she couldn’t understand. Perhaps lovers claimed this intangible right to feel it of their partner.

Faelen wrapped her in his steely arms and kissed her as if he meant to eat her alive. In the same spirit, she surrendered, opened and tasted his sudden passion. Quick as it began, it ended. He set her from him, keeping his hands on her shoulders. Dazed, she stared up at him.

“Tell me what made you fall in love with books.”

God, he had the longest, blackest eyelashes. No fair. “Books?” She shook her head in hopes of clearing it. No luck.

“Not collectibles, just for reading. Tell me.”

“The fantasy. Adventure.” Tynan spilled the truth much to her surprise.

Faelen smiled. His long dimples deepened to the degree no woman with a pulse could resist him. “I thought as much. Miss All-Business-No-Pleasure. You’re a fraud.”

Her arousal remained. The fairy glamour dissipated. “What?”

“I suspected from the start,” he replied. “That you kept everything sewed up so tight because you’d convinced yourself, on some level, self-indulgence would threaten your survival out in the world alone.”

The reality check struck her with such force, if he hadn’t caught and held her to him, Tynan would’ve sat down on the floor. She’d charaded in her own skin. Since when?

“I think,” she whispered into his shirtfront, “it started when I realized my Aunt Claire wouldn’t last that final winter.” She felt him brush the lightest of kisses along her temple. “I ...” She wrestled with herself, her idea of self, and her fear of what exploring herself could mean. “I know how to take care of myself, how to want on certain levels.” She felt hot. Cold. Lost. “I know I’m strong and capable. But.” She stalled. Remembered her mother so long ago telling her bravery meant doing what you must despite fear. “I can’t remember how to surrender to the fantasy”

“That’s why you focused on collecting,” he returned, assured and understanding. “You had them, held at an arm’s length, as a surrogate family you didn’t acknowledge.”

Tynan let her head drop back upon her shoulders. “I’m a mess.”

“But fixable.” Faelen kissed her again.

She kept her eyes closed for a moment after he ended it. Feeling the glow of arousal, the tingling anticipation of what he might have in mind, and listening to the soft sounds of the indoor ecosystem.

“Faelen Cairo,” scolded a honey-smooth, French accented, feminine contralto. “You devil. No wonder we’ve seen so little of you. You’ve been sequestered with this lovely creature.”

Tynan opened her eyes and turned toward the source. A petite black haired woman of indeterminate years, wearing a tasteful tunic suit in purple-grey, came gliding toward them. She possessed the enviable poise of a consummate business woman who also knew the value her own beauty and charm.

“Bonjour, Yvette,” Faelen greeted. He slid one arm around Tynan’s waist as he reached for the brunette with the other. The brief embrace told of a long friendship.. When they parted, he introduced, “Yvette de la Croix, meet Tynan Singleton, mae ilshlava.”

“Tynan,” the other woman held out her well tended, ring-bedecked hand, “I’m honored. Faelen told me nothing, only requested an appointment.”

Tynan felt a bit ill at ease as she shook the proffered hand. “Sorry you’ve been put to trouble.”

Yvette winked, calling attention to her extraordinary purple eyes. “I’ll take my revenge on him,” she replied.

Tynan took a moment to inventory the salon. The term didn’t make an exact fit. An elegant carpet stretched over a shiny oak floor, hosting imported Italian furniture, antique paper mache tables, and an inviting wet bar. However, to the left, several Chinese screens, a few of dark lace, and a series of clothes racks weighed down with half completed items and myriad swatch charts and bolts of fabric added their functional presence.

She looked at Yvette then fixed Faelen with a glare she intended to freeze him. “I hate that, last-one-to-know-feeling.”

“Faelen, for shame,” Yvette chided. “To secure a chunk of my coveted time for her, and not give her the fun of enjoying it in advance.”

Tynan admired the clever tactic. “In your line of work I suppose you have to be a diplomat.”

The petite brunette smiled as she met Tynan’s gaze. “I like her very much, mon ami. Work hard to deserve her.”

Faelen said, “She’s already beautiful. But, I want what’s inside to show in her clothes.”

“Whoa, wait a second.” Tynan at last saw the total picture. “This is my first trip to a custom place. But I know I can’t afford to shop here.”

“We can,” Faelen responded. “Everything I have is yours.”

Aunt Claire’s spirit seemed to whisper an admonition concerning dirty laundry aired in public. However, Tynan bet her high-handed, if well-meaning, lover banked on her exercising some brand of reserve. “Faelen has wasted your time, Madam de la Croix.”

“Au contraire, ma jeune fille.” Yvette gave her a measuring look from the floor up to her head. “I look forward to dressing you.”

Faelen took Tynan’s hand in a gentle, yet determined grip. “Yvette, a moment please.” The brunette inclined her head in a gracious nod and departed the way she’d come.

Alone with him, Tynan let him have it.

“I am not arm candy to dress for your pleasure,” she told him, stepping back a bit to stare up into his face. “If you think I won’t make a scene getting out of here, remember the decapitated Horus and the shattered window.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Faelen replied, tone smooth and low. “As for the clothes, they’re for your pleasure.”

“I am not,” she stated strongly, “your plaything.”

“Not pleasant having the name applied, even by yourself?” His voice held no hint of enjoyment at the reminder.

She’d given him the label, and expected him to accept it. “Agreed. Let’s go.”

He captured her other hand. “Tynan, I recognize you not just as my mate, but the woman who holds my heart.” He lowered his voice to an intimate hush. Gazing down at her, he said, “I want to show you my world. Show you Vampire society.” The gleam in his amber eyes seduced: his voice caressed. “Let me.”

Her determination to refuse wavered. “What you’re asking is that I let your friend make me over with a wardrobe worthy your station.”

He shook his head. “No.” Pure tenderness in a single syllable. “I’m asking you to come with me into a world you never knew existed. To see it, see me, and give yourself the chance to feel for me as I do you.”

She fought the potent spell of temptation he cast. “I can’t go on indefinite vacation. I have a set amount saved to cushion me until my shop turns profit. Period,” she explained. “I can’t idle away the time while my financial resources dwindle. No matter how much part of me would love to let you talk me into it, my survival depends upon my getting started ASAP.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He leaned closer. “Listen to me. You agreed to letting me bring you here, pay for everything. Why not these this?”

“I probably shouldn’t have-”
He cut her off, placed a finger over her lips. “I would die for you, mae ilshlava. That is what I mean when I call you ‘my fated’. I’d move mountains. Anything. This,” he took his finger from her mouth, indicated the elegant surroundings, “is nothing for you to make issue of. Ask yourself why you think it’s wrong to keep accepting from me things easily granted, but right to refuse the gift of my fidelity and affection.”

She flushed. “I haven’t refused the affection.”

“You have.” He cradled her jaw in his big hand. “I’ve lost count of the times you’ve told me I’m only a means to an orgasm.”

“Did I sound so cold-hearted?” Or that fragile?

“You sounded like a woman who’s had more than her share of pain.” Faelen stroked her cheek with his thumb. His gaze moved over her face. “Let me show you my world.”

She wondered if she had the courage to surrender all her preconceptions and rules. To let go, and face the terrifying prospect of becoming far more involved on an emotional level. “I don’t know if I can, Faelen.”

He smiled, flashing those long dimples with an appealing boyishness. “If one may go into the Himalayas, it’s wise to buy hiking boots and a warm coat. Shall we call back Yvette, and have her get what you might need for a foray into society?”

Tynan decided if she continued to protest at this point, it would show the brand of obstinacy displayed by the weak. “Nothing too extravagant,” she stipulated, wagging a warning finger.”

Faelen kissed the back of her hand, just a quick peck infused with approval. He called for Yvette, and it began.



“I can’t believe I agreed to all this.” Standing in their room at the King Richard’s Rest Inn, Tynan contemplated the array of clothing. Imported leather pants and jackets lie spread over the bed. Several pairs of custom jeans which had waited for tailoring, now belonged to her, perfectly fitted by three seamstresses. In her mind’s eye, she pictured the many other outfits, undergarments and accessories on their way to completion at Yvette’s boutique in Paris.

Faelen had coerced her into visiting yet another place she’d longed to see. They’d leave tonight to fly over the channel, and stay a week with some of his friends who shared their surname with the famed city. Tynan had phoned Lam to let him know, and the enthusiasm he’d displayed for her “game spirit” made her roll her eyes.

To an attendant bringing a very high tea, Faelen said, “There by the bed.”

She watched him tip the young man and send him along. Faelen then poured her a cup of fragrant tea and filled a little blue and white china plate with petite sandwiches, sliced cheese, red apple, yellow pear and huge nearly black grapes. Her stomach growled.

As he set it on a small occasional table between the two brocade chairs, he glanced at her. His brows lowered. “I should have had something more substantial brought at Yvette’s.”

“My glass of Riesling and slice of lemon tart have definitely worn off.”

He held out his hand. “Come have your tea.”

Tynan took one of the chairs and he the other. She polished off the helping of food as she listened to his description of the family they’d stay with in France. Her curiosity about this fascinating subculture gave her a ready sop, should her currently absent work ethic return.

“If you feel you must account to me for the clothes,” he said as he took her plate back to the cart and placed several more of the little cucumber and ham sandwiches and all the cheese and fruit that would fit on it, “I’ve compiled a list of nine books I wish for my collection. You could help me locate and authenticate them.”

Excitement sang in her veins. She accepted the plate. “You’re on,” she agreed, savoring the thrill of anticipation. Not only of that wonderful task, but of the adventure that lie ahead. Come what may in the next few weeks between herself and her lover, she’d have the memories of these things to take with her into the future.

His eyes caught and held hers, warm and filled with a simmering sensuality. Each hour that passes makes me see the rightness of this recognition.

Tynan didn’t know how to respond. Although she’d yet to take his theory of fate to heart, she believed in his belief. It showed in his every action, high-handed and dominant or achingly tender and attentive. He offered everything.

She held his gaze by a dent of will. “I’m looking forward to Paris, Faelen.” Screwing up her courage, she confessed, “I want to go with you.”

That pleases me, mae ilshlava. He reached across the table and short space separating them, curved his big hand around her nape, beneath her coiled hair. His onyx brows lowered a fraction. A muscle danced along his sculpted jaw. And for now, it is enough.


Wind blew, carrying the rain. The loose drape snapped like a whip. She sensed something. Danger. Then his body hit hers. They fell to the floor. Anise and male musk spiraled up into her brain.
“Who are you?”
“Death.”
Fear and anger. Vertigo made her vision cloud and sharpen beyond control.
Death sneered at her with razor sharp snowy fangs. “He left you in a state. I am his enemy. All others are my weapons.”
“Who are you?” Her heart pounded and she knew he could smell the blood in her veins.
“Death.”
Faelen’s voice parted the writhing fog that began to close in on her. “Tynan, come to me. You belong to me.”
She hesitated, finding herself in a tangled nighttime forest. The swirling mist that his voice had parted hung upon the ground. It twisted round her legs, made terrifying shadows among the huge trees.
Come to me, mae ilshlava,” Faelen’s voice commanded, twining the darkness like the vapor. “Tynan ... Tynan ...”


“Tynan.”

She felt her dream dissolving as the sound of the jet’s engines returned.

A second, muffled voice came from far away.

“Non, Brigitte. Merci,” he said.

Sleep hung upon Tynan like shackles and chains. She came full awake by degrees, opened her eyes. The light of a single small lamp revealed his concerned expression. He sat on the edge of the big bed, onyx hair loose and liquid around his wide shoulders.

One long-fingered hand touched her face, stroked her jaw. “You’ve slept a little. We’ll land in a few minutes.” His gaze moved over her face, assessing and keen. “Bad dream?”

She nodded. They hadn’t spoken about her strange memory lapse, or his explanation for it, since the night it happened. Aside From Faelen’s take on the incident, she’d known nothing. It hadn’t seemed real. The disturbing, fading dream made her feel vulnerable. And alone.

Tynan didn’t think about their impending landing or Brigette’s presence beyond the locked stateroom door. She reached for him.

Faelen rolled into the bed with her, wrapped her in his arms and pulled her atop him. She yanked at the buttons of his shirt, opening it, almost mindless with explosive, emotion-fueled passion. Streaking through the midnight sky in a sleek, luxury bullet, she felt free of stricture and standard.

“Faelen,” she moaned, dug her fingers into the brawn rounding his shoulders, straddled his narrow hips.

His pelvis lifted to hers, an answer old as time to feminine desire . He matched her urgency, stripping her and himself amid torrid kisses and caresses. When he lifted her and impaled her upon his rigid erection she bit back a scream of pleasure.

“My fated,” he groaned, the sound turning to a rumbling purr. “Mae amouhrn.”

She didn’t think. Just went into his arms as he gathered her close. She saw the flash of sharp white teeth an instant before they pierced her. This time the sensation of his mouth dragging that preternatural pleasure through her brought her a swift violent orgasm.

“No,” she heard herself protest. Then her panting, whispered pleas for more as he thrust high up in heated body, making wild love to her.

Tynan shook and grew too hot and stimulated to bear. His mouth left her. He pushed her more upright upon him, murmuring to her in the seductive language of his kind. She looked down at him, saw the rippling of brawn as he moved, the lust and tenderness in his glowing gold eyes.

Her second climax tore through her like lightning. The vibrant throbbing release traveled outward from its epicenter, tingling down her arms and legs, seeped into her heart and seemed to stay there.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Faelen handed Tynan into the white, stretch Excalibur Lady Iolanthe Paris had sent to the airport. He caught sight of Shang making his way across the shiny blacktop in the cold drizzling rain. He’d called before they left London to say he’d had trouble with Jenny and he would meet them in France. Dressed in customary black, Shang came forward to greet them.

“Ma’am-san.” He inclined his head. Then looked to Faelen. “When ma’am-san is settled, I must speak with you.”

Faelen nodded. “Let’s go.”
The ride to Paris House passed in silence. Shang sat opposite them, eyes closed in meditation. Tynan held Faelen’s hand, but stared out the window into the night. He could feel her turmoil, smell the faint fragrance of their passion upon her skin. The previous few days had seen many changes in the dynamics of their relationship. It tempted him to use his ability to ‘see’ into her mind to learn her opinion of them.

When they pulled into the crescent drive of Paris House, a small fleet of footmen rushed out to greet and help them. Faelen declined the umbrella offered him, ordering the footman to shield Tynan’s ascent of the masion’s wide steps.

Lady Iolanthe met them inside the cavernous foyer. The sparkling light from the crystal chandelier reflected upon the white marble floors and echoed in the glitter of her famous, emerald cut, thirteen carat canary diamond earrings.

“Faelen.” She came forward with open arms, her cinnamon-colored eyes sparkled to rival her jewels. “Bonsoir, mon sucre. I just arrived. Forgive my not meeting you.”

Faelen embraced her. “Io,” he greeted, “I’ve missed you.”

He had. Iolanthe and his mother had counted each other as their best friend, bound by mutual admiration and the distinction of being the only two female heads of Vampire houses. Dougray, Io’s mate was seven decades her junior, and though a formidable male, quite happy to defer to her in most matters.

She stepped back and her red-brown eyes fixed upon Tynan. “Mon Dieu!” she exclaimed softly, her tone very French. “The rumors do not do you justice.” She extended her hand, took Tynan’s into it. “Welcome to Paris, ma petite.”

“Thank you,” Tynan replied. A little frown line appeared between her brows. “You must tell me the correct way to address you.”

“Such lack of pretense,” Io smiled. “Call me ‘Io’, as Faelen does. You are family now, just as he.”

Faelen felt his mate’s discomposure radiating in waves. He decided to mediate. “My mother and Io were very close,” he explained. “She’s like an aunt to me.”

Tynan shot him a glance. “I see.”

Iolanthe clapped for her servants. “The hour grows late. We’ll see you to your rooms.”

Faelen kept his arm around Tynan as they followed their hostess. Her stiff posture acted as a warning flag. She didn’t feel comfortable with Io’s familial attitude.

“Here, ma chers.”

Faelen let the footman open the door to the ornate suite. He’d stayed in it before. The sitting room, bedroom, bath and verandah boasted enough luxury to please a sultan. Shades of tan, yellow, brown and royal blue dominated the nineteenth century furnishings.

“Have you dined?” Iolathe asked Tynan. “I can have a tray brought to you.”

Despite the way he knew she felt about accepting their hostess’s maternal kindness, Tynan said, “I’d like that very much, Io. Thank you for making me feel so welcome.”

After they exchanged goodnights, their hostess left them. Tynan took a pajama set from her bag and went into bath. A few minutes later she emerged.

“Something to say?” he asked.

“I don’t like lying,” she replied, hanging the black leather pants and grey cashmere turtleneck she’d worn on the trip. “This friend of your mother’s considers our relationship permanent, and I’d prefer telling her the truth right now.”

Faelen noted her erratic movements and the fact she’d buttoned her pajama top crooked. Catching her shoulders, he turned her to him. “What would you say?” He took the clothes from her and hung them in the closet. Then returned to her, unbuttoned her shirt and began again.

“The truth.” She frowned down at his hands. “I can dress myself.”

Faelen didn’t remind her she’d done the job incorrectly in the first place. “Which truth?”

“What do mean ‘which truth’? The truth.”

Hooking the last button, he said, “Your version of what you’d like the situation to be, or what’s really happening?”

She gave him a look he knew she intended to wither him. “As I told you, the truth.”

“Tell her whatever you like.” He tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

“I’ve learned to translate Faelen-ese. ‘Tell her whatever you like’ means ‘Knock yourself out. She won’t believe a word you say’.”

A firm knock at the door proceeded a heavily accented male voice calling, “I’ve brought supper.”

Faelen replied, “Entres vous.”

The footman, a red-headed human of perhaps thirty, carried the big silver tray to the sitting room table, poured a glass of the ruby colored wine sent in a carafe, and withdrew with a parting, “Bon appetite.”

“I need to speak with Shang, but it can wait,” Faelen told her as she took a seat at the table. “Shall I sit with you while you eat?”

“I’m fine, you go ahead.”

Faelen watched her fill a plate from the selections. Io set a legendary table, which he saw extended to impromptu midnight suppers en chamber: seared lamb chops, green beans sautéed with bacon, parsley potatoes, one of her chef’s famous portabella mushroom and truffle stromboli with melted brie.

“Don’t open the door for anyone. I can unlock it from the other side.” Kinetic abilities had their uses. He leaned down and kissed her soft mouth. “Enjoy your meal. This won’t take long.”

As he expected, Faelen found Shang occupying the suite next to his. Io knew he liked to have him close.
His servant and friend of many years locked the door behind. “Ma’am-san sleeps?”

“Eats,” Faelen corrected. “What’s on your mind?”

“Blade and Giann left San Francisco yesterday.”

“Coming for me?”

Shang shrugged. “This I can’t know.”

Faelen paused and listened as someone walked down the hall beyond the secured portal. A young human female, his evolved senses told him. “The vampire who entered my room was no reckless made male like Blade. He possessed powerful mental capabilities only a mature born vampire could. I suspect we’re dealing with two separate issues.”

“What of Giann. She turned Jenny-san and sent her to you, thinking you’d kill her when she attacked.”

That interested him. “Jenny told you this?”

Shang gave a swift shallow bow. “Yes.”

“I wonder now if Giann is manipulating Blade.” He did some rapid considering. “I had followed Tynan for some time the night we met. If Giann followed me, she could have decided to take a chance and send Blade after Tynan. Perhaps she hoped we’d fight then.”

“To what end?”

Faelen recalled that Giann’s eldest brother would speak to the Council on Blade’s behalf for his sister. “That’s the part that concerns me.”

Shang crossed the room to where a small carafe and set of sake cups stood on a table. He filled a cup, held it out in offering.

Faelen declined with a shake of his head. “Tell me. Do you think Giann’s clever enough to set Blade up for a fall in her stead?”

“Yes.” Shang sipped the liquor. “I cannot see any reason for it, however.”

“We must keep our guard up at all times,” Faelen cautioned. “We don’t know for certain who we’re fighting.”

Shang inclined his head.

Faelen reached for the door. “Until morning, then.”



Tynan finished her meal, brushed her teeth, took down her hair and combed it. Having worn it in a coil since early afternoon, it flowed around her shoulders in deep waves. A glance at a table top clock told her another day had arrived before she finished the first. She went into the darkened bedroom, turned back the thick comforter and climbed in.

The muted noises of the unfamiliar house surrounded her. She felt alone and very far from home as she lie there. In her mind’s eye she pictured her little apartment, dim and silent save for the sound of the city. When Faelen entered the sitting room a few minutes later, she experienced a rush of relief and anticipation. Little as she liked it, his presence gave her a sense of belonging and safety.

He entered the bedroom and began to undress. “What troubles you, Tynan?”

You, she thought. “Just feeling a little far from home.”

In the darkness, he was a tall broad-shouldered shadow, shades blacker than the rest. He stretched out on his back beside her and pulled her into his arms. The warmth and hardness of his body sent an appreciative shiver through her.

Faelen smoothed a big hand down her spine. “Better?”

Oh yes. “A little.” The heat of a blush stung her cheeks as her nipples tightened against his chest.

He made a rumbling purr of pleasure in his throat. Kiss me, ilshlava.

Her heart skipped several beats before settling into a rapid rhythm. She found his mouth with her own. The contact jolted her. Libidinous response blossomed low in her pelvis. Her fingers tangled in his loose, silky hair. She inhaled his scent, delved into his mouth to taste him.

Faelen rolled her onto her back. He stripped her pajamas from her with swiftness despite the lack of light. She cried out as his fingers pushed inside her passion-slick body. His lips left hers, he shifted in the bed, hair brushing her belly. Then, his mouth touched her just there, at the sensitive trigger of her desire.

Tynan rolled head and shoulders up from the mattress. Sharp physical delight lashed at her senses. She shuddered and moaned. He fluttered his fingers within her and she bit her lip to keep from crying his name.

Let me hear
No, she thought, thin-skinned and unreasonable with emotional turmoil and excitement. But, he tormented her with his mouth until she climaxed and half screamed, “Faelen!”

He brought her back to arousal by slow, delicious degrees, and when he entered her, it felt more like home than anything had in years.

Later, Tynan lie cocooned in his strong arms as she drifted to sleep, too satisfied and warm to do anything but sigh and smile.


She came awake the next morning when she rolled over, looking for her heat source, and found only cool sheets. Wan watery morning light trickled in between the drapes. A long stretch brought the slight tenderness at the apex of her thighs to attention. She wrapped the covers around her, sat up and swung her legs over the bed’s edge.

“Faelen?”
One of the double doors leading to the verandah opened. He entered and closed it behind himself. Dressed in all in black, his shiny hair drawn into a queue at his nape, he looked at once sinister and incredibly attractive.

“Good morning,” he greeted, eyes moving over her with leisured thoroughness.

It occurred to her that while she knew he slept little, he always appeared fresh and vital. One of the many perqs of vampirehood, she concluded.

“Are you hungry,” he asked. “There’s a buffet laid every morning at eight until after noon. Anytime you want something, you can go downstairs or have it brought to you.”

She’d stopped thinking of herself as Alice down the rabbit hole when she left San Francisco. Now she felt more like Cinderella. Minus the midnight curfew.

“I’d like a shower.” She reached for her rumpled pj’s in the floor.

Faelen retrieved them for her, gave them a tidying snap and handed them to her. One of his straight jet brows arched, and she read the message loud and clear. He’d seen every inch of her. Including those she didn’t see very often herself. Why bother?

Tynan took the garments from him. “Thank you.” She carried them with her to the bath and shut the door. A soft knock seconds later made her open it and peer around. Faelen handed her overnight bag of toiletries in to her, followed by her robe. “Thank you,” she repeated and shut the door with a bit more force than necessary.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in a long sleeved deep purple sweater, ankle length brown suede skirt and brown leather knee high boots, she exited the bath. She’d used just the basics on her face and braided her hair from the nape.

Faelen had shut the door to the sitting room. She heard his voice and a few seconds later, Shang’s on the other side. Giving herself a final inspection, she opened the door and joined them.

The wiry little man bowed from the waist. “Ma’am-san.”

“Good morning,” she replied.

Faelen held his out arm to her and she went to his side. “We discussed security measures,” he told her. His hand curved round her waist. “That finished, shall we go downstairs?”

Tynan nodded.


She pushed aside her plate, picked up her cup of chocolat, and sipped its rich sweetness. Seated at a damask draped table in what Faelen had called the morning salon, she gazed out the towering window to the manicured garden beyond. Roses still bloomed beneath protective domes. It lent a surreal quality to the late autumn landscape. In less than a week, they’d celebrate Halloween here with a lavish masque ball. Yet privileged by their beauty, the roses were spared a seasonal death.

“Io would like to give you a tour,” Faelen said from across the table.

She set down the cup. “I’d love that.”

“If you’re finished, we’ll find her.”

Tynan took a final sip of the silky drink. “Let’s go.”

He stood and pulled out her chair. Their hostess met them just down the hall. She wore an elegant suit in a muted bronze, with her chestnut hair drawn back in a sleek twist. The dazzling diamonds at her ears caught the light. And eye. If Tynan had met her under different circumstances, she’d have estimated the woman’s age at maybe forty.

“Good morning,” Iolanthe greeted. “I don’t have to ask if you slept well, you look ravishing.”

A flush warmed Tynan’s cheeks. Despite Faelen’s frequent praise of her beauty, she still didn’t know exactly how to respond to such compliments.

Io chuckled. “You charm me, ma petite.” She smiled and said, “Come let me show you my home.”

“We’ll give you ladies some privacy,” Faelen told them, “but we won’t go far.”

Tynan followed Io through the incredible dwelling. They toured the salons, music rooms, drawing and dining rooms, and the suites awaiting her guests for the masque. Also the cavernous ballroom where the event would take place. A modernized greenhouse lead to the kitchen. Given the herbs and edibles cultivated in the one and used in the other, it made perfect sense to Tynan.

“What a great touch.” She admired the stone archway that separated the work area from a cozy Provincial dining room. The rustic country furniture added the perfect patina of history to the updated house.

“I saved something special for last,” Io replied. “Here.” She turned the handle of a tall carved door, pushed it wide. Beyond lie a splendid study, straight out of a romance novel. Heavy masculine furnishings, wood paneled walls and a crackling hearth created an atmosphere worthy any brooding hero.

Breath held, Tynan crossed the threshold. Her eyes went immediately to a huge painting at the far end of the room. Drawn by it, she went for a closer look.

At first, she saw only the woman. She sat upon an padded bench. No human could possess such exquisite beauty. Let alone the unearthly coloring. The woman in the painting wore an emerald green evening gown from the mid eighteen fifties, perhaps. It showcased her deep golden hair, honey colored skin and pale golden-sherry hued eyes. Every feature, her high intelligent forehead, arched midas brows, large eyes, delicate cheekbones, lush lips and fragile jaw had a perfection that defied description or even category.

“Her name was Sazahnne. An Incomparable,” Io murmured, voice laced with sentiment, “even among the Vampire.”

Tynan pulled her gaze from the fantastic woman. Standing behind her, a man dressed in evening clothes of the same era seemed to stare out of the painting with his piercing black eyes. His long black hair almost moved, so skillfully had the artist captured it, and the big hand he had placed upon her shoulder said in no uncertain terms, “Mine.”

A shiver skittered down her back as she studied the man’s features. Though strong and attractive for that, they fell short of handsome. As she noted the fierce slant of his cheekbones and the sculpted carnal mouth.

Realization struck. “Oh my God.” She swallowed to ease the tightness of her throat. “Faelen’s parents.”

“A perfect blend of two extraordinary specimens, isn’t he?”

Tynan stepped closer to study the work. “He painted this.”

“Less then a month before they were killed. ”

That snapped her from her trance. “Killed?” She searched Io’s face for some indication she’d misheard.

Io stared at the woman in the portrait. “Sometime after, he brought this to me. Every one loved her,” she related, tone far away in remembrance. “They couldn’t help it. She had the fire and intelligence to make even her beauty seem secondary. Voice like an angel, and more graceful than a swan.” For a moment she seemed lost in memories. “Faelen the First adored her. Worshipped the ground she trod.”

Almost afraid to disturb the other woman’s reminiscence, Tynan asked, “What happened?”

Io turned from the painting. “Faelen did not tell you? Non, I see he hasn’t” Her expression changed from sentiment to steel. “That is his story to tell.”

For the first time, Tynan saw the vampire in the gracious woman. Glimpsed the subtle current of latent power. It made her arms break out in chills.

“Mais non, petite.” Io took her hand, her tone gentle. “Never fear me or mine. Know we will protect you as Faelen does.

“This is all still very new to me,” Tynan confessed, moved by Io’s evident maternal instincts. “I find myself wanting to confide in you, ask your advice.” She paused, took a shaky breath. “But I’ve known you less than twenty-four hours and I realize, with all due respect, your opinions will be biased.”

Io smiled. “My dear friend would have loved to meet you. Such candor in her son’s mate would have made her very happy.” She gave Tynan’s hand an affectionate squeeze, winked. “She would tell you the same thing I am. In some matters, human or Vampyre, our sex must stick together.”

The kindness offered by the lovely woman and her own emotional turmoil made Tynan feel the threat of tears. She smiled despite it. “Thank you again for making me so welcome.”

“Come to me with your confidences as it pleases you, ma petite cher. Sazahnne would have wanted to help you in this difficult situation. In her memory, and for you, I will do what I can.”



Late that night, after a day spent half at Yvette’s Paris boutique, then sightseeing, Tynan lie stretched out atop Faelen. His deep even breathing did not indicate sleep. She knew he slept little. Questions about his parents filled her thoughts.

How had they died? An accident, as with mine? Murder?

She shifted a little, turned her face, and rested her other cheek against his chest. For all she knew, some mysterious vampire malady could have ended their lives. But if so, why would Io use the term ‘killed’? How old had he been and where? Curiosity overrode reservation.

“Faelen?” Her voice sounded very small and timid as it floated into the darkness.

“I wondered how long you would wait,” he murmured and stroked her back. “Your mental cogs have turned for nearly an hour.”

“I’d like to know what happened to your parents.” She propped her chin in the little valley created by his square pectoral muscles, and gazed up toward his face despite the lack of light.

“My parents.” He spoke the words with a curious twist of tone, as though the grief, anger and pondering of their loss had distilled into one encompassing emotion. “They were killed the November I turned one hundred and fifty-one.”

Some part of her brain discarded the years he quoted. Too many. Impossible. Another portion tried to reckon it against her own age, and determine during what stage of his life it had occurred.

She sympathized with his loss. When she’d heard her parents had died, she had kept herself sane only by a dent of will. Now, years and continents from that horrible revelation, she still did not want to go back in memory.

With caution, she prompted, “An accident?”

“No,” he replied, “an assassination.”

The awful word cut through with surprising force. For a few seconds her mental processes tumbled over each other. Then she curled her legs beside him and sat up. She kept one hand on his chest.

“Why?”

“I sought that answer for many years, mae ilshlava.” He rubbed her at the base of her back, exerting just enough pressure to ease the tension his answer had inflicted. “I still don’t know for certain. I only know many coveted mae mamahn. And many resented mae pehr’s dominance, when he was not true head of the House of Cairo.”

Tynan reached out to touch his face. In the dark, she relied on tactile input to determine if she’d upset him. He gripped her wrist with his other hand, kissed her palm, then laid it upon his sculpted cheek.

After a long moment of wrestling herself, she asked, “Can vampires cry?”

“Our strength, senses, and emotions are a human’s magnified to the tenth or twelfth power,” he returned. “Imagine our capacity for grief.”

Tynan felt tears threaten for the second time that day. She started to tremble and reclaimed her position stretched out atop his long, powerful body. His arms surrounded her in safety and comfort, chasing away her demons from the past.

Some time later, he pressed his face to the crown of her head and added, “Imagine our capacity for love.”