Her cruelest temptation...

A werewolf’s bite has just one cure, and vampire Lucien Marchetta intends to find it. But first he must convince Professor Natalie Segova to help him. Natalie once considered Lucien a friend and protector...until he abandoned her to a terrible tragedy. And yet she still struggles to resist his tantalizing allure and the intimate memories of their past.

Racing to locate the cure, Lucien and Natalie tangle in a seductive power play where every move ratchets up the intensity of their blistering attraction. But time is running out and the veil between death and life is shifting. If Lucien doesn’t reclaim Natalie’s heart soon, he could lose her—and everything he values—forever.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Natalie kept her expression blank. Not in this lifetime, anyway.

“Natalie?” Lucien gave his head a little shake. “It can’t be…”

“I am Professor Natalie Segova,” she assured him politely. “Was there something you needed?” Natalie looked up at the hunky, gorgeous—ugh—vampire in front of her.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as though trying to make sense of the insensible. “Uh, sorry, you—you remind me of someone.”

“I must have one of those faces.” She shrugged again and started to turn away.

“Wait—uh, Professor. Could I ask you some questions? About your studies,” he clarified in that rich, deep timbre. God, it still had the ability to draw her attention, to suck her in and make her forget everything else around her. She remembered that voice murmuring softly to her in the darkness.

Yeah, she remembered a lot of damn things.

SHANNON CURTIS grew up picnicking in graveyards (long story) and reading by torchlight, and has worked in various roles, such as office admin manager, logistics supervisor and betting agent, to mention a few. Her first love—after reading, and her husband—is writing, and she writes romantic suspense, paranormal and contemporary romance. From faeries to cowboys, military men to business tycoons, she loves crafting stories of thrills, chills, kills and kisses. She divides her time between being an office administrator for the Romance Writers of Australia and creating spellbinding tales of mischief, mayhem and the occasional murder. She lives in Sydney, Australia, with her best-friend husband, three children, a woolly dog and a very disdainful cat. Shannon can be found lurking on Twitter, @2BShannonCurtis, and Facebook, or you can email her at contactme@shannoncurtis.com—she loves hearing from readers. Like…LOVES it. Disturbingly so.

Vampire Undone

Shannon Curtis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This story is dedicated to Allison Rogers—Lucien is your hunk!

Thanks so much for the inspiration :-)

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

“What about a nice, fresh Zinfandel?”

Natalie Segova ignored the suggestion and kept reading her book of poetry.

“Or perhaps a glass of Merlot? Something warm and full-bodied to ward off the chill evening?”

“You know you can’t serve me anything, Terry,” she whispered as she kept her eyes glued to the page.

“What about some nuts? Do you need some nuts? Advice? What’s troubling you tonight, honey?”

Natalie adjusted her spectacles then rested her elbow on the bar and leaned her chin on her palm in a move that looked comfortable but also masked her mouth from others within the bistro. “Terry, we’ve been over this before. If people see me talking to you, they’ll think I’m crazy. Shoo.”

“Can I get you something, Natalie?”

Natalie looked up as Darren, the bartender, approached her with a smile. She smiled back. “I’d love a Chardonnay, please.”

Darren winked. “Coming right up.” He turned away to ready the drink and Terry, the flamboyant ghost who refused to leave his job, folded his arms.

“Oh, so you’ll give him your order, but not me, huh? What am I, chopped liver?”

Natalie rolled her eyes at the apparition’s insulted expression and peered at him over her glasses. “Terry, for the last time, you’re a ghost. Deal with it,” she whispered as she again tucked her chin into her palm.

“Give me something, sweetheart,” Terry whined, his hand moving in a flapping gesture as he leaned his hip against the bar. “I’m here all by myself and you’re the only one who will give me the time of day.” He eyed his fingernails. “Which is a crime, as far as I’m concerned, letting all this go to waste.” He gestured to his form. Terry, fit and toned when he was alive, wore dark shoes, black trousers and a black bow tie, and that was it.

“I still can’t believe that used to be the uniform here,” Natalie said softly, eyeing his outfit—or lack of one.

Terry’s smile was more of a grimace. “Well, this place used to have a very different clientele. Now they’ve snootied it all up.” He sighed. “Friday nights used to be the best. The drag queens used to perform in that corner.” He waved casually to a corner near the window. He arched an eyebrow as he returned his gaze to hers. “Now we get—what? Prissy chicks reading—” He tilted his head so he could see the cover of her book and winced in horror. “Oh, my lord. Poetry. This place is going to the dogs.”

She smiled as the very corporeal Darren placed her glass on a coaster in front of her and then walked back to serve another patron.

“And you’re still here,” she murmured, sighing as Terry’s bottom lip protruded in a very good imitation of a sulk. She leaned back in her seat. “Fine. Give me some nuts,” she whispered and waited patiently as Terry moved and unsuccessfully tried to lift the nut bowl further down the bar. Out of habit, she toyed with the silver chain lariat around her neck, her fingers sliding along the links as she watched her “friend” do his thing.

After a few more attempts, the ghostly bartender got impatient and swiped at the bowl. The bowl flipped off the bar and nuts spilled across the floor. The bartender and other patrons startled then froze, staring at the mess on the floor that seemed to have sprung from nowhere. Terry placed his hands on his hips as he walked toward her, frustration etching his forever-young features.

“You did that on purpose.”

She shrugged, a tiny movement that was almost undetectable. Terry tried to serve her every time she came in to McKinley’s Bistro, and refused to accept the limitations his phantom form put on him. But she did so enjoy watching him try. She dropped her chain and returned to reading her book.

“Did you see that?” an older woman sitting at the bar muttered. She gazed dubiously at the glass of amber-colored liquid in her hand before placing it gingerly back on the bar.

“Uh, must have been a breeze,” Darren suggested quickly before ducking into the back room and returning with a broom and dustpan.

“I’m outta here,” another man said, reaching for his laptop bag as he climbed hastily off his bar stool.

“Come on, Nat. So I can’t serve you a drink. So what? I can still listen,” Terry suggested as he placed his folded arms on the bar. “Tell Uncle Terry what’s bothering you.”

Natalie held the book of poems determinedly in front of her face. “Nothing’s bothering me,” she said, trying not to move her mouth.

“Oh, right. So you’re here, all by yourself, every Friday night, and nothing’s wrong?”

Natalie frowned. “I happen to like my own company.”

“Honey, nobody likes their own company—not if they keep winding up in a bar,” Terry said sagely. “Especially not wearing that.” He gestured in a figure eight that both encompassed her outfit yet still managed to convey disdain.

Natalie’s frown deepened as she glanced down at her collared shirt and jeans. Her outfit was presentable and comfortable. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Uh, nothing...”

Darren looked over at her in surprise as he emptied the contents of the dustpan in the trash can under the bar, and color flooded her cheeks as she realized she’d spoken too loudly.

“Thanks, Darren,” she said then focused intently on the works of John Keats she held in her hands.

“Do you mean that outfit is intentional?” Terry gasped, his hand rising dramatically to his chest. He shook his head. “And do you think that simple necklace is going to dress this up? It’s worse than I—Oh, hello.” Terry’s attention whipped to the door of the bistro.

Natalie glanced over her shoulder and froze. Blinked. Whirled back around to bury her nose in her book. Her heart fluttered in her chest then took off in a thumping race.

Oh. My. God. Him. Here. It couldn’t be. Her guardian angel.

No, not her guardian angel, she corrected herself. More like a devil in disguise. She knew exactly what he was and she wanted to run for the hills.

Natalie willed herself not to run, not to stare, not to flinch. Of all the bistros, in all the teeny, tiny college towns, in all of Argon, why did he have to walk into hers? His kind weren’t common here. That was why she’d chosen to establish herself here. No shadow breeds, just humans.

The newcomer walked up to the bar and Natalie twisted away in her seat, trying to make it look like a nonchalant move as she closed the book she’d ceased to read. Maybe she could get out before he noticed her, recognized her. She slid the book into her bag, her fingers brushing, lightly grasping, then relinquishing the handle of the blade she always carried. It matched the one strapped to her ankle.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Professor Segova. I was told I’d likely find her here...”

Good grief. That voice. Like smooth chocolate, all rich and dark and hinting of nights and mischief. He hadn’t changed a bit.

Well, duh. He’s a vampire. He’s bloody immortal.

They didn’t tend to age. Or change. Or die, damn it.

And he was looking for her. She didn’t want to see him. She never wanted to see him. Never again. She sure as hell hadn’t expected him to walk into her bistro, looking for her.

“Oh, wow, Mr. Hottie wants you,” Terry whispered unnecessarily.

Mr. Hottie was an understatement. The man was undeniably handsome, in an intent, coolly detached way. He wore a black suit, a dark, collared shirt and no tie. With his dark hair and piercing blue eyes he looked every inch a potential dark angel. Shoulders broad, chin set at a challenging angle, he effortlessly commanded attention.

But not hers. Nope. Not anymore. She was too wise to his ways to let herself be entranced by a searing pair of stunning blue eyes and lips that suggested all sorts of steamy seduction. No, sirree.

She slid off the bar stool and turned away slightly, praying that Darren would get the message her body language was screaming, and send this particular patron on his way. She dug for her wallet and pulled out some notes to pay for her meal and drinks.

“Professor Segova? Yeah, she’s right there.”

Darren hadn’t gotten the message. Well, there went his tip for the night. She put the money on the bar and busied herself with her coat. She lifted her bag to her shoulder.

“Ooooh, honey, he’s on his way over to you,” Terry sighed before biting his bottom lip.

Once again, Natalie did her best to ignore the ghost.

“Excuse me, Professor Segova?”

She forced a politely inquisitive look on her face as she turned to face him. Well, his chest. She’d forgotten how tall he was. Wow. Had he always been so...built? She forced herself to lift her gaze to his.

Er, wow. His eyes were still that stunning azure color. Nope. Not getting distracted. At all. She pulled her lips into a cool smile.

“Yes?”

He blinked. Gaped. “You! You—You’re Professor Natalie Segova?” Recognition battled with confusion. She hoped confusion won.

Showtime. “Yes?” she inquired innocently.

“Natalie?” he repeated.

She kept her expression bland as she nodded. “Yes, I’m Natalie Segova. How can I help you?”

“It’s me—Lucien,” he said. “Lucien Marchetta.”

She continued to look at him blankly, then gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Not in this lifetime, anyway.

He gave his head a little shake. “It can’t be...”

She raised her eyebrows, her expression turning expectant. “I am Professor Natalie Segova,” she assured him politely. “Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, I’d be happy to help,” Terry said suggestively.

Natalie shot him a grim look before turning back to the hunky, gorgeous vampire in front of her.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as though trying to make sense of the insensible. “Uh, sorry, you—you remind me of someone.”

She shrugged again. “I get that a lot. I must have one of those faces.” She slid the strap of her tote up to her shoulder and started to turn away.

“Wait—uh, Professor. Please. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions? About your studies,” he clarified in that rich, deep timbre.

God, it still had the ability to draw her attention, to suck her in and make her forget everything else around her. She remembered that voice murmuring softly to her in the darkness.

Yeah, she remembered a lot of damn things.

She started to back away from him, her expression still polite. “I’m sorry, I really have to go—but if you’d like to call my office, my assistant can make an appointment for you,” she suggested. And she had absolutely no intention of keeping it. She’d be halfway across the Red Desert before he realized she’d fled town, fingers crossed.

This time his confused gaze turned serious, intent, and he met her gaze directly. “Wait,” he said in a tone that took his voice to an even deeper timbre. “You want to talk with me. Now, as a matter of fact.”

She could feel something fluttering along the edges of her mind and her smile tightened. He was trying to compel her, damn it.

Well, that put her in quite a position. If she resisted the compulsion, he’d realize something was up, that she wasn’t the human she pretended to be, which would lead him to the next realization, that she could very well be the person he thought she was. She couldn’t have that.

She tilted her head back, easily ignoring the shadowy effect trying to cloud her brain. “I’d love to talk with you,” she lied. “Why don’t you walk with me? My place is only a couple of blocks from here.”

He smiled at her and she glanced away. He still had that sexy smile that was all mischief.

“After you,” Lucien said, gesturing for her to lead the way.

She smiled through clenched teeth. Great. She just needed to play along with this farce long enough to get to her home, to safety. Okay, she could do this. She could act normal, even flirt if she had to, if it gave her enough time to get in her front door. She slid her hand inside her bag to clutch the handle of her blade as she walked out into the cool evening.

* * *

Lucien strolled along Main Street, surreptitiously glancing at the woman at his side as they went.

It was remarkable. She looked so much like Nina—but it couldn’t be. Nina was dead. Years ago—it had made front-page news, everywhere. Besides, even if the papers had gotten it wrong, Nina would be in her sixties now. This woman looked to be in her twenties. Blond hair that fell in soft, barely-there waves to her shoulders, hazel-gray eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, and a pale complexion that was currently just the slightest bit flushed. She was pretty. Hell, she was more than pretty, but...well, it felt weird, thinking of her like that, particularly with the confusing mishmash in his mind with Nina. He frowned.

“Uh, I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t really look old enough to be a professor,” he remarked tentatively. He kept his tone light, perhaps there was even a hint of flirtation, but there was also some doubt. She looked like she should be a student, not the lecturer.

Her lips tightened briefly before curling into a smile. “I’m older than I look,” she said. “Used to be a problem when I was younger and trying to get into bars.”

Her response was light, but he got the impression his remark hadn’t been received as a flattering compliment on her youthful looks.

“You wanted to ask me something?” she reminded him as she turned a corner down a tree-lined street.

“Uh, yeah. I hear you’re an expert on all things mystical and mythological?” He still couldn’t quite believe it. He’d thought, when Dave had mentioned this woman, that she’d be much older. He frowned. Hadn’t Dave said she’d been here for some years? How did that work?

She nodded. “I’ve spent some time studying the old stories and legends,” she conceded. “What did you want to know?”

He glanced around the street. He wasn’t exactly eager to discuss his mission in public, but he’d detected a wariness in this woman and sensed this might be the easiest way to get her attention—and her assistance. He didn’t have the time to leave it until some assistant managed to find an empty slot in the professor’s schedule.

Fortunately the street was mostly clear of people. A woman walked her dog further along the block and a man carried two big bags of trash out to a bin on the curb.

“I’m wondering if you are aware of any myths or legends that discuss survivors of lycan attacks,” he said casually.

Her eyebrows rose. “Well, yes. There are any number of ancient legends that include a lycan survival story. Particularly before the time of The Troubles, when humans still viewed werewolves as creative fiction. For a time, there was a belief that if one did manage to survive a werewolf’s bite, one also turned into a werewolf.” She smiled briefly. “We know that’s not true now, though. We know that there has to be a bloodline, for example, for lycanism to develop.”

“What did people do to survive the lycan’s bite? In those legends, I mean,” Lucien amended casually as she again led him around a corner. This street was quieter. Lights were on in some homes and the streetlamps gave a charming glow to the wide street. Shadows stretched between the lamps and colored leaves littered the sidewalk and gutters. He scuffed at a pile as he walked along, the movement almost instinctive. His lips curled briefly. Nina used to love the leaves. He glanced up and down the street. She’d love this neighborhood. He sighed. God, he hadn’t thought of Nina in years. That familiar ache was still there, though, edged with regret.

“Oh, they didn’t. Not really,” the professor said. “Usually, the stories showed the victim dying a painful death, often shot with a silver bullet.”

Lucien blanched. “At least they got that detail right,” he muttered. Silver was toxic to both shifters and vampires, and the humans had used it to good effect during The Troubles.

She nodded. “It’s surprising that some of the beliefs manifested in these legends were obviously born from some aspect rooted in reality.”

She halted at the gate of a modest Colonial-style house with white columns on a wide porch. An old-fashioned coach light spread a warm glow in front of the red front door. “Well, this is me. Thank you for walking me home.” She smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She turned away from him and suddenly he didn’t want her to go, didn’t want their time to come to an end.

“Let me walk you to your door,” he said, following her through the gate.

Her eyebrows dipped. “Oh, no, you don’t need—”

He met her gaze. “Please, let me walk you to your door,” he said smoothly, using a light compulsion. He almost felt guilty, but he quashed the emotion before it caught a foothold. He reminded himself he was there to save his sister, and he didn’t have time for polite pleasantries and stop-start conversations. But, deep down, he couldn’t shake his fascination with this woman. Was it just that she looked so like someone he’d once known? Someone he’d once...felt something for?

Something flashed in her hazel-gray eyes—irritation?—then it was gone and a polite smile crossed her face.

“I would love it if you walked me to my door,” she said in a low voice.

The husky sound curled deep inside him and he tried to think of any excuse to stretch out this meeting, this discussion, just a little longer. He took a deep breath as he walked down the garden path with her. He didn’t need an excuse. His sister was lying in a coffin, slowly being consumed by a poison he desperately needed to find a cure for. This was not a first meeting. This was the meeting until he got what he needed.

She opened her bag, retrieved her keys, unlocked and opened her front door and then turned to face him. “If that’s all, Mr. Marchetta—”

“Lucien,” he prompted, and she dipped her head.

Her glasses had slid down her nose and she now pushed them back into position. He wondered if she realized she used her middle finger to do it—although the gesture looked natural.

“Lucien,” she repeated. “I really have to go in and mark some papers—” She gestured with her thumb over her shoulder, but his gaze remained on the woman in front of him. She really was quite stunning. There was no reason why perhaps this meeting couldn’t be an enjoyable one, for both of them.

“I’d love to talk some more,” he said, his throat dry, his voice husky.

She tilted her head as she looked up at him, her eyes that fascinating blend of warm golds and cool grays. “Perhaps you’d like to call me some time,” she said, her voice matching his in the husky stakes. She pulled a business card out of a pocket of her bag and offered it to him. He grasped the small rectangle of quality print stock and her fingers held it for just a little longer.

He lifted his gaze to hers. There was curiosity there, for sure, and an awareness of him that matched his unexpected appreciation of her. Something warmer flashed in those eyes, something he knew shone deep within his own. His gaze drifted down over her slender, straight nose to the sweetly curved lips.

“Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?” he suggested softly. He placed his hand on the doorjamb and leaned closer. He could hear her soft intake of breath, the spark of surprise, the flare of heat that shifted her eye color to more golden than gray. Her lips parted.

He could feel the muscles in his groin stir, tighten, as her scent drifted to him, something soft and sweet, and yet...familiar. He leaned closer still, saw the pulse flutter at the base of her throat.

“I’m not in the habit of letting men I’ve just met inside my home,” she replied, her gaze dipping to stare at his mouth.

His lips curled slowly and her teeth bit gently down on her bottom lip.

God, he wanted to kiss her. He was surprised by the flash of need that tore through him. She leaned against the doorjamb, shifting slightly so that she was half inside the house, half out. He heard a soft thud. She’d dropped her bag on the hall floor behind her.

“Invite me in,” he suggested, his gaze flicking between her mouth and her eyes, and then he got distracted as her hand rose to the scarf around her neck.

“I can’t,” she whispered. She pulled the scarf away from her neck and he watched the fabric slowly drift over her skin. How the hell could removing a scarf look so damn sexy?

He caught a glimpse of silver around her neck. It was tied in what looked like an intricate lariat knot. He couldn’t help but notice it would form a protective, painful barrier between her neck and a vampire’s teeth—if one was so inclined...

The delicate chain dipped below her blouse and all he could think was how damn lucky it was. And sexy. Yep. Sexy.

“Invite me in,” he whispered back. He grinned as she stepped inside the house, her palm sliding up the doorjamb so that she mimicked his stance. Her seductive smile was enough to melt any common sense he may have claimed as his own.

“I don’t think so,” she said as she parted the lapels of her coat. She wore a collared blouse that looked all-business but hinted at a body built for play, cutting in to reveal a slim waist. She shook her head, her blond hair sliding back over her shoulders as she gazed up at him with a flirty challenge in her eyes and a soft flush on her cheeks. She was magnificent.

“Invite me in,” he coaxed, meeting her gaze and infusing his words with just the slightest hint of compulsion. He wanted in. In this house, in her arms. Inside her.

She arched her back, just a little, and his gaze dropped to her chest. That darned shirt draped over her breasts, hiding her curves. She leaned forward, just until she was in line with the door. She smiled sweetly, seductively, up at him, like an enchanting siren.

“No,” she said slowly, drawing the word out in such a manner that he was briefly distracted by the O shape of her lips before he realized what she was saying. Her smile tightened and the warmth of her gaze took on a chill.

He blinked. “No?” What? But he’d—

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she told him, tsking as a frown marred her brow. “Fancy using compulsion to get into a woman’s home—a woman you’ve only just met, too!”

He gaped at her. He’d used compulsion, true—but how the hell did she know? How the hell could she resist? She wasn’t a vampire; he could still sense warmth and life within her. “What are you?” he asked in a low voice.

Her smile was brittle. “I’m the woman not inviting you in,” she said sweetly as she reached for the door.

He held up a hand and encountered the impenetrable barrier to a home into which he wasn’t invited. “Wait—I really do need to talk to you,” he said as the door started to swing closed.

“Well, I really don’t want to talk to you,” she responded tartly. She shook her head, her disappointment stamped on her features. “Really, Lucien. When a woman says no, accept it.”

The red door snapped closed in his face and the light on the porch winked out. He gaped at the door.

What the hell had just happened?

Chapter 2

Natalie groaned as she hid her head under her pillow. She wished she had a gun. If she couldn’t shoot Lucien, she’d shoot herself to put her out of this misery. Maybe she should just use her chain? Lash him with silver. She needed to do something. He was outside her bedroom window, singing.

Badly. Which surprised her, because he had such a deep, sexy voice when he spoke... What happened in his larynx that he could sound like a brawling tomcat when he sang?

“Four hundred and sixteen bottles of beer on the wall...”

He’d started at one thousand bottles of beer on the wall.

She sat up in her bed and glared at the curtains shielding her window. She’d take one of those darn bottles and—Her hands fisted. She couldn’t stand it. All evening, he’d tapped at the windows, the doors. He’d cajoled, he’d teased. Now he was trying torture.

She rolled out of bed, stomped over to the window and whipped aside the curtain. He sat in the crook of the maple tree outside her window, looking way too comfortable for her liking. He stopped singing when she slid up the sash.

Lucien grinned. “Well, hello, minx.”

The nickname stopped her cold. He used to call her that, all those years ago. It had been used in exasperation, affection, but never in that slightly flirty tone.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

“What should I call you? Nina?”

She lifted her chin. Okay, so he knew. Didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. “Don’t call me that, either.”

“Why not? It’s your name.”

“No. Nina died a long time ago. My name is Natalie.”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you’d prefer to call yourself—”

“It is. Now, please go away.” How she didn’t have the neighbors lining up to complain was a mystery. He must have compelled them, damn it.

He folded his arms, eyeing her figure.

She was wearing pajamas from her neck to her ankle. She hadn’t felt comfortable wearing anything less, not with a vampire stalking her home.

“I need to talk with you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”

She glanced at her watch. “That’s fine. Sunrise is in three hours. Nothing like smoked vampire with a side of bacon to go with my morning coffee.” She raised her arms to close the window.

“Four hundred and fifteen bottles of beer on the wall,” he began to warble.

She took a deep breath. She was tired, she was cranky, and if this meant she’d snatch some much needed sleep, she’d let him say his piece and get it over with. “Fine, talk. You have five minutes—and then I’m going to sleep and you can sizzle, for all I care.”

His eyebrows drew together and the downward turn of his mouth reminded her of Terry in one of his snits. “What happened to you? You used to be so nice...”

She snorted as she folded her arms and leaned her hip against the windowsill. “That was a lifetime ago, Lucien.” Literally. She glanced pointedly at her watch. “Four minutes.”

“I need your help.”

She stared at him for a moment but his expression was enigmatic as he stared back at her. He, Lucien Marchetta, scion of the Marchetta vampire colony, needed her help. She burst out laughing.

He arched an eyebrow and her laughter trailed off. She blinked. “Good grief, you’re serious.”

His mouth quirked. “As a heart attack.”

“How could I possibly assist the great Lucien Marchetta?” she asked, curious despite herself. The man moved in circles far removed from her own and, up until a few hours ago, he’d been completely unaware of her existence. From what she’d heard—and there were plenty of stories circulating about the man—he’d been living mainly on the west coast, establishing the family business...which was code for spreading the Marchetta influence to straddle the whole country.

And she...well, she was a professor of mythology and folklore studies, which was code for using teaching students as an opportunity to indulge her keen interest in stories set in bygone eras—and to find answers for her own problems. She couldn’t help him with the Marchetta empire—the idea was so ludicrous, she almost giggled. Almost. She hadn’t giggled in years.

“I was told you’re the best in the field when it comes to everything arcane and mystical,” he said quietly.

She arched her eyebrow. “Don’t think you can flatter me,” she said brusquely, ignoring the warm pride that bloomed in her chest that suggested he could, indeed, flatter her.

“I need to find something.”

She kept her expression impassive but her mind started to race. What was he looking for? Something arcane and mystical, apparently. Something that drew him to a quiet little professor in a quiet little town. What mystical thing could a vampire want or need? A resistance to silver? No, there were any number of witches who could do some sort of protective spell for that.

An object that protected the wearer from sunlight? She knew of some stories that hinted at the existence of such artifacts. A book? Something that could reveal the clues to a lost pre-Troubles treasure? There were so many possibilities and her imagination was going wild.

“What?” She kept her tone cool, casual. She wasn’t interested. Not really. Nope, not—

“Anything that would neutralize a toxin in a vampire’s system.”

Interested. She tilted her head and tried to look nonchalant. “What kind of toxin?”

“The lycanthrope kind.”

She frowned as she digested the remark. Did he just say—? “A werewolf bite?”

He nodded. She lowered her arms as she straightened.

“A werewolf bite,” she repeated slowly to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding her and she wasn’t misunderstanding him.

He said nothing, just met her gaze grimly.

“A werewolf bite,” she said, this time rolling her finger in a circle. “You want to find a vampiric cure for a werewolf bite? You are hearing me, right? A werewolf bite?”

His lips tightened. “Yes, I hear you. And, yes, you’ve got it right. I want to find something that will cure a vampire of a werewolf bite.”

Oh, dear. Time had not been kind to Lucien. It was the only explanation she could think of, for him to have such a mental lapse. Strange, she hadn’t heard of a human condition like dementia striking a vampire before. Still, there was always a first time for everything...

Her arms rose to grasp the window, but he moved swiftly, his body a blur as he shifted to the end of the branch. “I’m serious, Nin—Natalie.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re bat-crap crazy, Lucien. Goodbye.” She began to draw the window down to close, but he slammed his hand on the pane of glass, effectively halting her movement. She flinched at the anger in his blue eyes, the set of his jaw.

“Vivianne’s been bitten and I don’t have much time to find a cure. You’re my last resort, Natalie. Help me.”

His sister. She remembered how close they’d been, how he’d often spoken of her as his partner in all sorts of childish pranks, and how they’d supported each other when it came to his controlling, Reform-senator father. Family. It had always been so important to Lucien.

Yeah, well, family had been important to her, too, once upon a time. Anger warred with sympathy. Anger won. Her eyes narrowed at his words. “Me? Help you? Where were you when I needed you, Lucien?” she snapped. “You don’t get it, do you? You broke your promise to me and as a result I lost everything. Help you? I hate you.”

She slammed the window closed, pulled the curtains across with a snap of fabric and stomped over to her en suite bathroom. She pulled cotton balls from the jar on her bathroom sink, stuffed them in her ears and stomped back to her bed.

Help him, indeed. She pounded her pillow into a comfortable pulp and lay down. She brushed away the tears trailing down her cheek as she glared at the wall.

No, damn it. She refused to care.

* * *

Lucien eased back along the branch toward the trunk of the tree.

I hate you.

He settled himself in the crook of the tree, staring at the darkened, covered window. He couldn’t quite close his mouth, although his fingers clenched around the branches above and to the side of him. Shock. Annoyance. Frustration. Pain. Shock. The emotions tore through him.

He was still trying to process everything. Nina—no, Natalie—was alive. He could barely believe it. He’d suspected it was her when she’d slammed the door in his face. Not because she’d slammed the door, or because she’d resisted his compulsion—he still didn’t know how that worked—but because of the way she’d said his name in such a familiar manner. It had sparked memories of a younger, happier woman.

Who currently hated him.

She was so angry, so bitter—nothing like the young woman he’d once known, the woman whose memory he’d cherished. She also awakened a pain he’d buried deep.

He sagged against the tree. When he’d come looking for Professor Segova, he’d expected a quick, easy, polite discussion with a stranger. After all, he could simply compel the woman to tell him everything he needed to know. She was his last resort, though.

Vivianne had been languishing in her coffin for eight months. The witch, Dave Carter, had placed her under a suspension spell when she’d been bitten by a stray lycan, in an effort to give himself enough time to find something that everybody else didn’t believe existed—a vampire’s cure against the lycan toxin. Eight months, and he’d exhausted every option, had visited every elder, witch, monk, shaman—hell, he’d even tried the mundane human doctors. Nothing. Now, though, Dave had learned of a woman well-versed in ancient lore, who could possibly search through the dusty records for an oblique reference to the cure. Well, that was the plan. And he’d anticipated finding an older woman who would succumb to his compulsion and tell him everything he needed to know.

But, no. Instead he’d found a woman who could not only resist compulsion, but now showed no inclination whatsoever to help him save his sister.

She was right, though. He hadn’t been there when she’d needed him. He’d promised and he’d let her down, and she’d paid the ultimate price. He shifted, guilt and shame weighing uncomfortably on his shoulders. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Nin—no, Natalie. Natalie... He repeated the name over and over in his mind, trying to get it to stick, despite the shock. What the hell was he supposed to do now? His sister’s body was slowly being eaten by the poison. His father would blame him for this death, too. He would lose the only family he knew.

He looked up at the sky. Already the dark was giving way to gray. He’d have to move soon, find someplace dark and protected from sunlight. He eyed the window. He didn’t want to leave her.

She could be the key to saving his sister. She was also the only real friend he’d ever had. His eyes narrowed. He’d twisted himself inside out when he’d heard of her death. And here she was, looking remarkably healthy for a corpse. All those years—decades—he’d tortured himself with remorse for not being there for her, his regret for a treasured life lost had ripped him apart. He’d done dark deeds as a result of that pain, that desolation.

And it had all been for nothing. She lived. Anger tasted like ash in his mouth.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her she was his last resort. Failure was not an option. Natalie Segova would help him save his sister.

He just needed the right leverage.

* * *

Natalie glanced around as she lifted her suitcase into the trunk of her compact car. She’d waited until the sun was truly overhead before stepping out of the house. There was no sign of Lucien. Not that she expected to see him. He was a blood-sucking vampire who sizzled to ash in the sunlight. She hoped he’d crawled back into whatever dark place he’d lived in for the past forty years.

Still, it was a relief he’d finally left. She wasn’t sure when, though. She’d stayed awake all night, listening. Hadn’t slept a wink.

That was probably his evil plan, darn it. She’d had to wait for sunrise, though, before she could start packing. She hadn’t wanted to clue him in to her plans for a speedy departure. It had taken her most of the day to get things sorted.

She lifted her sunglasses to rest on the top of her head as she strode through her kitchen and picked up a box from the table. She’d hastily packed her most prized possessions—whatever she could fit into her car. She’d lived as Natalie Segova for eight years, the longest she’d held on to an identity for decades, so she’d accrued quite a few things. Some old books that were dated pre-Troubles era—before humans realized the shadow breeds existed, and were quite telling of the time—some art, her tools, just in case she ever got close to a dig again. She eyed the contents, then gave a satisfied nod when she spied the small jewelry box tucked inside.

She peeled off her gloves and set them on the table, then reached for the velvet jewelry box. She lifted the lid and gently clasped the locket inside. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the object in her hand, opening her senses. All she could sense, all she could feel, hear and see was a black void. Nothing. She closed up the velvet box and sighed softly in frustration. Still nothing.

She glanced around the room and made a face. She’d been here for so long. It was comfortable. Familiar. She liked it. She liked her work, she liked her students. Heck, she even liked Terry, and good old Rupert who haunted her office. She liked her name, too.

Damn it, she was two years too early. People started to notice after ten years the lack of aging, so she generally made it a practice to move on before folks started to ask questions. But here—she liked here. Now she’d have to create a new name, a new identity. Where was she going to go? What was she going to do? It wasn’t like job opportunities for historians came up regularly.

She tugged on her gloves and lifted the box. She had so much access to information here, information she needed to figure out what the hell was going on with her. Even now she struggled to think of a destination that would help her with her quest. She stomped to her car. She didn’t like moving house. Had done more than her fair share of it. And why was her life in such a state of upheaval?

Lucien. It was all his fault. She dumped the box unceremoniously into the trunk and slammed the lid closed. She clapped her hands together, trying to dislodge as much dust as possible from her gloves. Why should she let another vampire ruin her life?

The thought brought her up short. Maybe she could just ignore him? She snorted. Like anyone could ignore Lucien Marchetta. The man was too good-looking, and too damn determined, to be ignored. She started to drift back toward the house. Send him on his way? Maybe she could get on with her life and to hell with Lucien Marchetta? Just go on living as Natalie Segova...? Her shoulders sagged. No. She couldn’t risk it. If word got out about who—or what—she really was, she wouldn’t have much of a life left, if any.

Being in this position, subject to the whims of a bloodsucker, was damn annoying.

She growled softly as she jogged back into the house to get her bag and keys. It was late afternoon and shadows were creeping across her yard. Dusk came early this close to the mountains. She had to get out of here before Lucien came back. And he would. If there was one thing she remembered about the man, it was how ruthless he could be when his family was threatened.

Her mouth turned down. What she would have given to have that fierce protection pointed in her direction. Well, obviously his regard for her hadn’t cut as deep as hers had for him. She straightened her shoulders. If wishes were horses, there would be no shadow breeds, damn it.

She returned to her car, slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

She frowned, turned the key back to its original position and then tried again. Still nothing. She checked the fuel gauge. She still had a half tank of gas. Her eyes narrowed as she popped the hood and climbed out of the car. She lifted the hood, propping it open with the car rod, then rested her hands on the rim of the engine bay as she surveyed inside. It didn’t take her long to notice the distributor cap was missing.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

She heaved back off the car, her hands fisting as she took a few steps in one direction, then turned and stalked a few steps in another direction.

That weaselly, sneaky, clever bloodsucker. How had he known? She knocked the rod down and slammed the hood back into place. Well played, Lucien. Well played. She took a deep breath. Now what?

She whipped her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and sent a text to her research assistant, Ned Henderson, asking to borrow his truck tomorrow. When the sun came up, Lucien would be forced to find cover, and she’d be able to flee. She nodded. That was the safest course of action. Sure, she hated delaying her escape, but it was better to be thorough and alive than impulsive and dead. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Great. Now she just needed to make it through the night. She grabbed her bag and keys, hesitated, then removed her suitcase from the trunk. She may as well be comfortable tonight. She hurried to her back door and had just opened it when she heard footfalls on the porch steps behind her. She whirled, surprised.

Lucien leaned against the porch railing, his eyes looking so startlingly blue with his dark hair. His black shirt was open at the collar and he was wearing a black coat that fell halfway to his knees. She frowned. She’d always thought he was handsome. Dreamy, even. Now, though, all these years later, she was aware of him in a way that was new and...unwelcome. She let go of her suitcase and subtly adjusted her grip on her tote, her hand sliding inside. She kept her gaze on him as she grasped the handle of her blade.

Despite the brisk breeze, his coat was open, revealing the dark shirt beneath. He folded his arms, the fabric pulling taut against his shoulders as he smiled. A slow, seductive curve of his lips. His gaze traveled from the top of her head to the tip of her sneakers, lingering on her curves. She swallowed. She wasn’t used to him looking at her like that. Not for forty years. Not ever. It wasn’t friendly, or exasperated, or even angry. No, it was provocative. She swallowed again and the corners of his mouth kicked up in a knowing smile.

She dropped her suitcase and bag and then whirled, stepping toward her doorway, to safety. She needed to get inside. He moved in a blur, slipping between her and escape. She gasped and jerked back, raising her hand. He caught her wrist and he slid his other hand up the doorjamb, skillfully using his body to crowd her back against the external wall of her home.

He eyed the silver blade in her hand with mild interest and squeezed just enough for her to wince at the pins and needles. Her grip relaxed. The dagger fell, its blade burying itself in the wooden slat of the decking. He let go of her wrist and brought his hand up to brace it against the clapboard at the side of her head.

He met her gaze intently as he leaned forward, effectively cornering her against her home. He tilted his head to glance at the suitcase at her feet and arched an eyebrow.

“Going somewhere?”

Chapter 3

Lucien inhaled. God, she smelled so sweet. So different to the way he remembered. She’d smelled of innocence and illness, a little sunshine mixed with poison. Sweet, but with a playful, daring sense of mischief. She’d definitely changed, though. He’d first met her when she was nine years old and had last seen her on her nineteenth birthday. Six years later, she was dead. Or supposed to be.

He shifted even closer. He could feel her warmth, her heat, could smell her, something floral with a spicy edge. Today she wore a denim jacket, a shirt revealing that enticing glint of silver at her neck and jeans that looked real damn good on her. He stared into her brown eyes, saw the startled fear morph into something darker, warmer. She definitely wasn’t dead. Her gaze flickered briefly to his lips then back to his eyes.

He raised a hand to smooth her hair back behind her ear. “You weren’t thinking of leaving, were you?” Annoyance edged with disappointment washed over him, confusing him amid a rising tide of attraction. Her intentions were obvious. He’d watched her briefly from the lengthening shadows. She’d crammed pretty much everything barring the kitchen sink into her car. Thank God, he’d thought to disable the car. If she’d left...

Well, she had. She’d been ready to turn her back on him and walk away without a backward glance, and that probably hurt more than last night’s realization. He narrowed his eyes. Time for a different approach.

She lifted her chin. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said. Her voice came out all soft and husky, and he could see the pulse fluttering in her neck, could hear the soft whisper of her breath and could almost feel the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. If he leaned forward just a little more... He couldn’t help the flare of curiosity—what would she feel like, her body pressed against his? Her eyes darkened, just a little, but he couldn’t smell fear on her. No, there was something else, something innately familiar that his body recognized before his mind could.

Desire. It was like a shock, but a warm shock, as his body reacted before his brain could engage. This wasn’t the little girl he’d once befriended.

He trailed his hand from her shoulder down her arm to slide in and rest on the indent of her waist. Soft curves. Warm heat. Blood pooled in his groin, his breathing quickened.

“Then let’s not talk,” he murmured and dipped his head. She gasped at the move and his lips took hers.

There was no slow familiarization, no tentative movements. Instant arousal, hard and sharp, gripped his body as his tongue slid against hers. Her hands rose to his chest and, for a moment, her palms flattened against his shirt and he thought she was going to push him away. He leaned his hips against hers, knew she could feel the effect she had on him. Her hands clutched at the fabric, pulling him closer, and she opened her mouth to him.

He crowded her back against the wall, sighing as his body pressed fully against hers, feeling the soft swell of her breasts against his chest, her pants as his hand slid from her waist to her butt, pulling her closer, tighter. And all the time, their lips and tongues played.

God, it was so hot, so fierce, this need to have her. She felt so damn good in his arms. His attraction to her last night paled in comparison to the rushing heat and desire swamping him now. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, feeling her breath mingle with his as she panted against him.

He wanted her. Now.

He shifted slightly, pulling her toward the door, and again encountered that impenetrable wall of resistance from the house.

He growled, bending low and clasping her around the thighs, lifting her up against his rock-hard arousal. God, she felt so warm there. His cock swelled and all he could think about was her, surrounding him. Her arms slid around his shoulders and she thrust her breasts against him as he wrapped her legs around his waist, his coat enveloping them both.

“Let me in,” he whispered and rocked her against his hips.

She shuddered in his arms. Her nipples were tight little nubs against his chest. “Yes,” she moaned before dipping her head to catch his lips.

He felt the invisible wall in her doorway disappear and he stumbled inside her home.

With one hand cupping her butt, he trailed the other one up her body, pulling her shirt along with it. Her skin—God, it felt so good, so smooth and warm. He could feel her stomach muscles shift under his touch, and they both moaned when his hand found her lace-covered breast.

He strode into the room, angling his head briefly to peer beyond her, although she kept distracting him with those soft little pants and those sexy little hip rolls that she did against him. He tried to find some place, anywhere—The kitchen table caught his eye and he carried her over to it.

The surface was clear—not that he cared—and he kicked a chair away, ignoring the clatter it made as it skidded across the floor. His senses were preoccupied by the smoking-hot, writhing woman in his arms. His own arousal was at fever pitch, clenching his body in a tight grip. He was so hard, so ready, stunned with the force of it, but willing to let it take control.

He kissed her hard and long, tongue lashing against hers as he rested her butt on the edge. He took hold of her ponytail and lowered her down on to the table, their lips and tongues tangling.

She moaned as he stepped into the juncture of her thighs and he could sense her heat, her dampness, right where he wanted to feel it most.

His lips left hers, trailing across her jaw and partway down to her neck. He stopped short of the chain. Her pulse was hammering away in her throat, matching his in a frenzied beat. He kissed her behind her ear, gently raking his teeth against the sensitive curve of her neck. She flinched. Tensed. Then shoved him with enough force that he flew across the room until he hit the kitchen island and fell to the floor.

She sat up on the table, her eyes glowing silver, as she clutched her neck.

“You bastard,” she hissed.

* * *

How. Dare. He.

Natalie slid off the table, trying to calm her thumping heart, to wrestle her body under control. Her knees were like jelly and she had to lean back against the table for support. Tension gripped her; she couldn’t identify whether it was fear or desire that made her feel weak. Probably both. She pushed the memories from her mind. That wasn’t now. She wanted to run. She wanted to fight. She wanted to purr. She didn’t know what she wanted.

“You bastard,” she hissed again. She pulled her shirt down, trying to smooth it over her hips, wishing she could restore order to her pounding heart and desire-drenched body as easily as she did her clothing. Damn it, she hadn’t even thought to use her lariat or the dagger in her boot. Hopeless. She eyed Lucien.

He shook his head, as though stunned, and eyed the distance between them. “What happened?” he said, his expression confused and maybe a little frustrated. He glanced at the kitchen island that had stopped his flight. A chip of caesarstone fell to the floor.

“Get out of my house,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Lucien rose, rubbing the back of his head. He quickly composed himself as he leaned against the kitchen island. “No. You invited me in.”

He wore that stubborn look that had always struck her as annoying but sweet. Now, though, she didn’t think it was so sweet, just annoying. I invited him in?

She frowned and opened her mouth to argue, only a faint memory of her panting “yes” stopped her. He had asked, and she’d invited him in. The fact he was inside her kitchen testified to it. Damn it. He’d used her. He’d kissed her, twisted her in knots, just to get his ass inside her home. Once in, you couldn’t evict a vampire. At least, not easily.

“Nice place,” he said, eyeing the interior of her home casually. He gestured to the frames that could be seen on the hall wall. “The photos are a nice touch.”

“God, what is it with you vampires that you’ll stoop so low?” she rasped, ignoring his offhand effort at conversation.

His gaze swept over her, pausing on her hips. “I was prepared to stoop much lower,” he said in a voice that sounded deep, husky and just a little gravelly with tension.

It brought a tremble to her knees and a catch to her breath as images of what they could be doing right now, if she hadn’t stopped him, flooded her mind as though on a rapidly spinning film reel...along with a good dose of mortification. Damn it. Seriously? This is Lucien. What was wrong with her?

“I can’t believe you’d be willing to use your body to get what you want, that you would use me,” she said, injecting scorn into her voice, and hoping she could inject her spine with a little bit of steel when it came to Locky-Lips Lucien. She shook her head. “I refuse to be some toy for you vampires to play with and then discard—or kill—whenever it suits you.”

“I’m not toying with you,” he snapped, bracing his hands on the counter behind him.

He had the audacity to look offended. She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really? Suddenly, after all these years, you track me down because you actually want...me? You didn’t even know I existed until yesterday. This,” she said, gesturing between them, “isn’t about us. It’s about you, and how far you’ll go to save your sister.” She refused to give in to the hurt. He was playing a game. That’s all this was.

His lips tightened. “I will do whatever I can to save my sister,” he admitted. He tilted his head. “You would do the same, given the chance.”

It was like a wave of frigid water sucked her down into a whirlpool—dizzying and frightening and oh, so cold, sucking the energy, the fight, out of her. “I can’t believe you said that to me,” she whispered. “You know better than that.”

He stepped away from the counter, his frown harsh. “Do I?” He shook his head. “I thought I knew better. I thought you were dead—and you’re clearly not.” He ran his hands through his hair, his fingers tightening in the ebony strands. “My God, Ni—Natalie. I thought I’d lost you.”

“You did lose me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I know how much your family means to you, Lucien. Maybe this gives you some idea of what I went through.”

He gaped at her for a moment then stepped closer, his hands at his sides. “Is that what this is about? Revenge? I didn’t do this to you, Natalie.”

Her smile was brittle as she stepped forward, closing the distance between them until she could look him straight in those gorgeous blue eyes. “I’ll always be here for you,” she whispered, satisfaction coursing through her when she saw him pale as she threw his words back in his face, the way she’d wanted to do for forty years. “I watched my family die, and you were nowhere to be seen, Lucien. Now it’s your turn to watch yours die, knowing someone could have helped but decided not to. Just like you did.”

“I did not decide to abandon you, Natalie.” His voice was low, like rocks spilling over gravel. “I didn’t know. I was at one of my father’s events.”

Her lips tightened. His father... She thought Lucien had left Irondell because of her, because of that one stupid, innocent little kiss when she was just a little too drunk and a little less inhibited. Even now, her cheeks warmed at the memory. He’d been such a gentleman, too. Told her that she’d find a guy who was close to her age, and was ready to share with her all the adventures Lucien had already had. That he was too old, too cynical and world-weary for her, but that he loved her—as a friend. And then he’d left. Sure, they’d kept in touch via email—as friends. But every time he’d promised to visit, something always came up, and was always because of his father.

She’d followed all of his progress, reading anything she could find in the news articles, researching online. He’d been doing well, over there. Away from her. She folded her arms. “Yeah. I know. Looking after your family interests. Sorry, Marchetta. Your trip here was wasted. There is no cure for a werewolf bite, not for a vampire. You should go home and be with your sister.” Her lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “I know how much your family means to you.”

His brow darkened and she watched the flicker of myriad emotions pass across his face until his expression was once again implacable. “Help me, Natalie. If not for what we once meant to each other, then for the sake of natural curiosity. I at least know that much about Professor Segova—her keen interest in the occult and cultural mythology.”

So he’d done his research on her, huh? Well, it wasn’t a secret that she loved her work and found it fascinating. She’d even managed to do a couple of field trips to track down arcane objects and sites of significant cultural importance. Then the rest of his words sank in. What they’d once meant to each other? Well, she knew that apparently she’d put more stock into their relationship than he had. She’d call him on it, too, if she could just put voice to those challenging words. What had she meant to him? But then she’d have to hear his response and she wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to have this whole damn conversation with Lucien, quite frankly. She’d drawn a line under that time in her life. All that had died when she had.

She shook her head, keeping her mouth shut. Just let sleeping dogs lie.

Lucien sighed and his breath whispered across her cheek. This close, she could feel his warmth, feel the life in his non-dead, too-gorgeous body. “What would it take for you to help me, Natalie?” His voice was soft, almost pleading—well, about as pleading as Lucien Marchetta could get. “Name it.”

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer so that only a whisper separated her lips from his. She lifted her gaze to his eyes. “My family for yours.”

She saw the instant that anger and pain flared in those eyes and rested back on her heels, triumphant for a brief moment at causing that reaction, quashing the shame that rode on triumph’s tail.

She’d struck him in the heart. She knew from personal experience how important his family was to him, and how much he would sacrifice for them. It would eat him alive, this helplessness at not being able to help his sister. He’d crossed the desert based on a rumor of a cure to save his sister from a fate that was universally accepted as a natural, inevitable consequence. She just wished he’d fought against nature so thoroughly for her. Resisting him, not helping him—he would hate her for that.

And then he’d leave. And then maybe she could go back to her not-so-normal life.

She turned her back on him and walked toward her living room.

Lucien grasped her arm, turning her and forcing her up against the wall. His eyes were blazing red, his nostrils flared.

“Do you really hate me so much?” he yelled, the rage almost tangible. “Are you willing to let an innocent person die because of this petty, spiteful hate of yours?”

Her eyes widened as her anger coursed through her at his words that hit just a little too close to home. “Innocent? Your sister is a vampire, Lucien. She lost any dregs of innocence centuries ago. Petty? Spiteful? My family died. I died. Forgive me if that detail seems so trivial to you.”

“Damn you, help me save my sister!”

She saw his muscles bunch, heard the thunk as his fist hit the wall, felt the wall shudder under the impact. She raised her chin. “Or what, Lucien? You’ll beat me to a pulp? Maybe bite me a bit? That’s what you vampires like to do, isn’t it? Take little bites to torment and drain your victims? Or do you want to kill me?” She laughed as he blanched and stepped away from her. “Honestly, if you could figure out a way to do it, I’d be thankful. I’ve tried a few things and nothing has stuck.”

He blinked as he backed up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you can’t do anything to me I haven’t already tried.” She yanked off her gloves and held up her wrists, twisting them outward to show him the smooth skin. “See, I don’t even scar now. Drowning? Well, that doesn’t work, either. And electrocution stings, but the hangover when you come to isn’t worth it.”

His frown deepened. “You’ve...you’ve tried to kill yourself?”

His words were a little breathless, as though she’d punched him in the stomach. He was the first person she’d admitted that to, although why, she had no idea.

She shrugged. “Doesn’t count if it doesn’t work,” she muttered. She eyed him as he turned away briefly from her, his hand rising to rub his chin.

“Why—” he cleared his throat “—why would you do that?” He turned to her, his expression pained.

She gave a sad sigh that sounded like a dying violin. “I have no one, Lucien. My mom, my dad... There is nobody left. Every night I come home to an empty house. There are no Christmases or birthdays. Anyone who once knew me, once cared about me, is long gone. I have no...” She swallowed. “I have no one.” The last words came out in a whisper and she had to blink to fight back the burn in her eyes. God, she sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.

He reached for her but stopped midway and turned, his shoulders taut. He stood still for a moment and she desperately wanted to see his face, desperately wanted a clue as to what was going on inside his head—although she’d never had much luck reading the man. He reached in and pulled an object out of his pocket. His face looked ravaged by emotion as he gently pressed the book against her chest, forcing her to clasp it.

“That’s not true, Natalie,” he murmured, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that made her lower her stare. “You had me.”

He walked through her living room to her front door and she glanced down at the book she held. She barely registered the sound of her front door opening and closing. Her breath caught as she recognized the dark red hardcover and embossed cursive font on the cover. Her old book of poetry from the Romantic era. Tears swam in her eyes, blurring her vision, but her hands clasped the tome tightly. He still had it, still carried it with him. She’d given it to him that last night, all dramatic and fanciful as only a nineteen-year-old girl with a massive crush could be. He’d just told her she was his greatest friend, and that he had to leave—for business. She should have just painted a bright red L on her forehead for loser. But no, she’d thought perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance there could be more between them, and she’d pressed it into his hands.

Carry this with you and think of me when you read it, she’d told him. He’d smiled and hugged her close, and she’d hugged him back, cherishing the moment of being held in his arms just one more time.

And then he’d left and she hadn’t seen him until yesterday. She hefted the book in her hands. She couldn’t believe he still carried it with him. All these years...

Had he read it and thought of her? Had he actually missed her, maybe? She closed her eyes and held the book close to her chest and inhaled. The book carried faint traces of his scent, as well as the slight musk of years gone past.

“Puhleeze. Would you rather hug a book or that beautiful man?” A feminine voice sighed and Natalie jerked, her eyes popping open in surprise.

A young girl sat on the arm of a sofa, swinging her legs and popping gum. She wore a navy sweater, plaid skirt and long white socks. Her hair was pulled back in a curly ponytail. She frowned when she met Natalie’s eyes. “Oh, my God. You can see me?”

* * *

Lucien halted at Natalie’s front gate. A black BMW sedan was parked across the road, the windows tinted dark with tempered glass. Another vampire. The back passenger’s window slid down and he sighed when recognized the vampire. He schooled his features as he crossed the road to greet his father. He didn’t want Vincent Marchetta to see how devastated and shocked he was. Exposing that depth of vulnerability was a recipe for prolonged punishment from his sire. He should know; he’d modeled his own behavior on the man.

He braced his hand on the roof of the car. “What are you doing here?” he asked without preamble.

Vincent sat back in the seat, his face all dark and brooding in the moonlight.

“I would ask you the same question,” his father responded, his expression closed.

“I need to track down a lead.”

His father snorted. “I can’t believe you bought into this fairy tale,” he snapped.

Lucien ignored his father’s contempt. He’d grown adept at doing it. He focused instead on the man’s words. “I’m not sure if I’ve totally bought into it,” he said, “but if there is a chance we can save Viv, then I’ll do everything in my power to do so.”

“So you go off gallivanting again while a member of your family lies dying,” Vincent snarled.

Lucien’s arm muscles tightened on the roof of the car for a moment. His father’s words were full of anger, condemnation and something darker that Lucien didn’t want to put a name to. They called up gruesome memories and pain—so much pain. And guilt. Shame. Anger. He shoved the tumultuous emotions behind a cold curtain of composure. He flexed his fingers on the smooth surface of the car and straightened.

“I didn’t do this to her, Dad,” he said quietly, gazing down the street. “I intend to save her.”

“Well, we all know where your good intentions get people,” his father muttered.

Lucien gritted his teeth, his muscles flexing in his cheek. It was dark now, although the sky still bore traces of burnt orange—the light of a sun reluctant to relinquish its grasp on the day.

“Your witch friend told me what you were up to,” Vincent said calmly. Lucien’s lips quirked. He wished he’d been there to see that. Dave Carter was renowned for not giving a damn about position or power, and wouldn’t have given his father the respect the old man believed was his due.

Sometimes, he envied Dave Carter. Not a lot, but sometimes. Lucien said nothing, but turned to look at his father expectantly.

Vincent’s brown eyes took on a serious glint. “Your sister’s condition is getting worse. I understand a certain Professor Segova is proving resistant?”

Lucien glanced at Natalie’s quaint little home. She still hadn’t turned on any lights. “She’ll come around.”

“We don’t have time for that. I’ll leave Enzo here, to assist.” His father indicated the driver’s seat and Lucien leaned down to glance into the dark interior. His father’s guardian nodded at him, his expression bland.

Lucien pinned Enzo with a lethal glare. “You won’t go anywhere near her,” he stated slowly and succinctly. “She is off-limits to you. And you,” he told his father. “I’ll take care of this.” He was still upset with Natalie—furious, really—but he didn’t want his father or the guardian prime to get involved.

Enzo arched an eyebrow and curiosity flared in his eyes as he briefly glanced toward the house. Lucien didn’t care that his remark would draw more attention to Natalie. He knew what kind of “assistance” was being offered and he didn’t want it anywhere near Natalie. Damn it, she’d already been through enough.

“I don’t take orders from my son,” Vincent pointed out mildly. “Whatever it takes, she has to tell us what she knows—and you know Enzo has certain skills to make people talk.”

That was the problem. Lucien knew exactly what Enzo was capable of. Natalie thought she couldn’t die—a fact that intrigued him. A woman who could resist compulsion, couldn’t die, and possessed the strength of ten men—going by the way their kiss had ended so abruptly—yet she wasn’t a vampire. She was all warmth and vitality in his arms, all soft heat and lush curves—Damn it, he wasn’t going to think about that. But she thought death couldn’t claim her. Well, she’d be screaming for death before Enzo was through with her.

A four-by-four pickup turned the corner and drove slowly down the street. Lucien met his father’s gaze briefly before the young man turned into Natalie’s driveway. Lucien recognized the guy from several photos on Natalie’s hallway wall.

He shook his head at Vincent. “I said, I’ll take care of this.” He stepped away from the BMW and crossed the street, back in the direction of Natalie’s house.

Chapter 4

“You can see me!”

Natalie’s glance skidded away, but it was too late. The girl leaped off the arm of the sofa, clasping her hands. “Oh, my God. You can see me!” She jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “This is so cool. You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve actually spoken to anyone. I’m Courtney.”

Natalie glanced down at the book in her hands. She wasn’t wearing gloves. Blast. She’d taken them off to show Lucien her scarless skin. “Look, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now—”

“Of course! You have to go after him. That was so romantic,” Courtney gushed. “He has been moping over that book forever.”

Natalie frowned. “Really?”

“For reals. Totally.”

Natalie hesitated.

“And he’s super-hot.” Courtney waggled her eyebrows and popped her gum.

Natalie rolled her eyes, but still headed for the front door. She’d deal with Courtney later. She pulled the door open. “Luc—”

Lucien was walking up her garden path to her door, hauling a resistant Ned Henderson with him.

“Ned,” she gasped, then frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I got your text,” Ned said, trying to shrug Lucien off. He wasn’t successful. “I was heading out to meet with some friends and thought I’d drop my truck off tonight instead of tomorrow.” He tried to brush off Lucien’s grip. “Let go of me, man.” He winced as Lucien’s grip tightened.

“That’s very sweet of you,” Lucien said, his gaze alternating between her and her research assistant. “You must be fairly close to be able to call in favors like that, Natalie.”

Her frown deepened and sense of disquiet sparked at his words.

Lucien cocked his head as he smiled tightly up at her, his hold tight and unyielding on her research assistant’s arm. “What was it you said?” he asked casually. “My family for yours?”

His eyes flashed red, his teeth lengthened. Natalie’s eyes widened in horror as she guessed his intentions. She dropped the book and started running down her porch steps. “No!”

Lucien sank his teeth into Ned’s neck and Ned cried out in pain. Her friend tried to struggle, but his eyelids flickered and he slumped to the ground.

* * *

Lucien watched as Natalie’s expression paled.

“What have you done?” Natalie screeched as she skidded to her knees on the path. She pressed her hand to Ned’s neck, trying to stop the flow of crimson blood that was now staining her path. She shrugged out of her jacket, wadding it up in her hand to press against the bite. He saw her hands tremble as she tended to Ned.

“Exactly as you said, Natalie,” Lucien said calmly as he wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his lips. He watched as she tried desperately to save her friend. Much more effort than he’d expected, admittedly. He’d been right. For someone who had no one, she sure had a lot of photos of her students and coworkers. She might not admit it—she may not even be aware of it—but she had established connections with people in her life as Natalie Segova.

She glared up at him. “Fix him,” she demanded.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’d like my help to save someone close to you, huh?” He couldn’t help the prod. He was so damn angry with her. He should have left, given himself time to calm down, to think rationally. But then, that would leave Natalie unprotected against his father’s guardian prime. He tried to rein it in, but it was difficult. He was angry. Angry that he was forced to do this. Angry that she’d totally turned her back on him. She’d felt lost and lonely, and would rather kill herself then reach out to him. He’d—Damn it, he’d loved that young woman, in his own way. And she’d been prepared to bleed it all down a drain. Rage simmered within him, burying his shock and despair at her confession, and those softer, warmer feelings that had woken with that kiss. He smiled, his lips tight.

“Agree to help me save my sister and I’ll save your...friend.” He eyed the young man, his skin a pasty white against the dark flagstone of the path. He was just a friend, right? Not that he cared, or had any right to query her on that. Still, the curiosity jabbed at him.

“You bastard.”

“So you’ve said. Clock’s ticking. He’s about to bleed out, Natalie. What’s it going to be?”

She glared at him with narrowed eyes, the gray brightening against the hazel. Ned’s breath started to rattle in his chest and she turned to her friend. She smoothed his brown hair off his forehead then nodded. “Fine. I’ll help you look into a cure for your sister. I can’t guarantee that we’ll save her—there’s never been a hint of a cure for the lycanthrope toxin,” she said in warning, then dipped her head. “But I’ll help you look. Save Ned.”

He glanced at her for a moment. “No more running.” It wasn’t a request.

The muscles in her jaw clenched. “Fine.”

Well, it would do for starters. “Deal.” He held out his hand and waited for her response. She eyed his hand for a moment. Finally she clasped it briefly.

“Deal.” She let go almost immediately. “I hope you’re better at keeping your end of a bargain than you are a promise.”

His lips tightened at the remark, then his incisors lengthened as he pushed his coat sleeve up and unbuttoned his shirt sleeve, rolling it back. He bit gently into his wrist. He leaned over and pressed the open wound to the research assistant’s mouth, wincing as the young man tasted, then sucked at his offering. He pulled his wrist away.

The young man’s eyes flickered open as the wounds on his neck closed up. He flinched when he saw Lucien.

“Take your car and go home—sleep it off. You were too tired to visit Natalie,” he murmured, his voice deep, his gaze intensifying as he compelled the young man. “You won’t remember any of this. Oh, and Natalie doesn’t need your car anymore.” He helped the man to his feet and turned him in the direction of the four-by-four parked in the driveway.

“Will he be okay?” Natalie asked, rising. Lucien wondered briefly at her concern.

“He’ll be fine.” He turned to face her fully. “I appreciate your help, Natalie.”

She gave him a harsh look as she rolled her bloodstained jacket into a tight ball. “Like I had any choice,” she muttered.

“I just want to help my sister,” he told her quietly. It pained him that he’d had to go about it this way, but for every minute Natalie refused to help him, his sister slid closer to death.

“We have a deal, Natalie. I’ve saved your friend, in exchange for your help. If you try to run again, I will kill him, and anyone else you call friend here in Westamoor. If you try to break our deal, I will kill everyone you’ve ever dealt with here.” He kept his expression composed when she blanched, firmed his lips when the look in her eyes changed, dulled, and defeat crept onto her face. He stifled the regret that warred with self-disgust at forcing her to his will in this way.

Her lips curved, tinged with a sadness he wished he could remove. “Somehow, I didn’t expect anything less,” she murmured.

Pain speared him, and he straightened his shoulders in an effort to ward it off. “Where do we start?”

She pursed her lips and it was so obvious she hated the whole situation. “The institute. We might find something in the library.” She held up the jacket in her hand and indicated the blood splatter on her shirt. “I have to change first.”

He nodded. “I’ll wait.”

* * *

Natalie unlocked her office door and stepped inside, switching on the lights as she did so. Lucien followed close behind. She pushed her spectacles up on her nose into a more comfortable position. She’d almost forgotten to wear them. Shrugging out of her coat, she draped it over the coat hook next to the door, then crossed over to her bookshelves and started scanning the titles. She made sure to keep her gloves on.

Lucien frowned and jerked his chin in the direction of her hands. “Are you still cold?”

“Nope, just like wearing gloves, especially when I’m handling the books.” She kept her tone clipped, trying to ward off any more questions about the gloves.

Lucien came to stand by her side, gazing up at the wall of books. “I see some things never change,” he murmured, a slight curve to his lips. “You always loved to read.”

She faltered at his warm tone, the indulgence of it, then continued to scan.

“Do you remember all those hours you used to make me read to you?” he asked, folding his arms and leaning a shoulder against the shelving to look at her. “One more,” he said in a soft, singsong voice. “Always one more. One more page, one more chapter, one more story.”

She steeled herself against the sweet memories he evoked. “Save it, Lucien. I agreed to help you. We don’t have to pretend to be friends.”

Lucien kept his gaze on her. “I always thought we were more than friends,” he said quietly.

Her fingers paused on a volume of Celtic mythology. She’d thought so, too, but then he’d pulled that stunt on her front path. No friend would do that to another.

“What about wolfsbane? Did you think to try that to neutralize the toxin?” She changed the subject in an effort to distract both of them.

“Yes. It had no effect.”

“Hmm. What about...silver nitrate? No, wait. That wouldn’t work.” Silver was toxic to werewolves, but it was also toxic to vampires. It might work on a human, but that particular remedy would probably kill a vampire.

She hesitated. “What about...null blood?”

“Too risky. It could possibly work on the lycan toxin, but it would also work on her vampiric biochemistry.”

Meaning if it nullified the werewolf’s toxin, it would also destroy anything vampiric in Vivianne. “She could wake up human...?” she suggested.

“Or maybe not wake up at all,” Lucien pointed out. Natalie grimaced. He had a point.

“Oooh, I didn’t realize we had a visitor,” a male voice said from the doorway.

Natalie glanced over her shoulder, then glanced quickly back to the books. Rupert had arrived. He materialized through the door, his white hair a little scruffy, wearing his customary attire of cream-colored shirt, red bow tie and a brown cardigan. He used the hem of his shirt to rub his spectacles clean, then placed them back on his face and blinked at Lucien.

She’d been expecting him. The institute’s resident ghost ambled further into her office and sat in one of the twin chairs opposite her desk. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Look, if you want to find a vampire cure for a werewolf’s bite, then let’s just focus on that, shall we?” Her words were as much for Rupert’s benefit as Lucien’s. She pulled down a range of books on European history, pre-Troubles period, and turned toward her desk.

Rupert’s eyebrows rose. “Did I hear you right? A werewolf cure?”

She eyed her friend briefly as she handed Lucien one of the volumes. “Let’s go back to the very beginning.” She went to sit at her desk and opened one of the books. “The first rumors of vampiric behavior date back to the Ottoman Empire,” she said. “Let’s look through these chronicles...”

Lucien flicked open a random page and read briefly. His eyebrow rose. “Transylvania? Isn’t that a little kitsch? Besides, isn’t that now Melania? That’s been werewolf territory for nearly seven hundred years...”

“Hasn’t he ever read Dracula?” Rupert asked in surprise.

Natalie’s lips curved. “Yes,” she said to her ghostly companion. She’d made Lucien read it to her when she was fourteen. She realized Lucien was looking at her in exasperation.

“Well, if it’s just kitsch, why am I reading it?” he asked.

Natalie blinked, realizing her blunder, then turned as though she’d been speaking to him, after all. “As I mentioned the other day, folklore is largely based on fact. I believe Transylvania is the birthplace of vampirism.”

Lucien shot her a skeptical look and she folded her arms and leaned forward to rest them on her desk. “Think about it. Whenever you have a saturation of a certain breed, it’s either a stronghold or—”

He finished her sentence. “They moved in and took it over.”

She nodded. “Exactly. If Melania is a werewolf stronghold now, it’s either always been that way or they overran the vampires. Look up any reference to Vlad—”

“Dracula?”

“Uh, he’s not a total lost cause.” Rupert sighed and pulled a pipe out of the breast pocket of his buttoned-up shirt. Natalie ignored him.

“Vlad Dracul was the father. We’re looking at his son, Vlad the Third. Vlad the Impaler,” she clarified.

Lucien frowned. “Why do you think Vlad the Impaler might be of help?” He moved to sit on the chair that Rupert was occupying.

“Wait!” She held up a hand and Lucien froze. “Uh, that one’s more comfortable,” she finished lamely, pointing to the empty seat. “The other one has a spring in it.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever been referred to as ‘the one with the spring in it’ before,” Rupert muttered.

Natalie sighed, trying to keep track of the conversation she was having with Lucien. “I think we start with Vlad to search for a heretofore unknown cure for a werewolf bite, especially since he was the first person who understood how to kill the vampires.”

“I thought he was rumored to be one?”

Natalie cupped her hand on her chin, her brows dipping. “I don’t subscribe to that point of view. He may have been a human trying to rid his area of vampires.”

Lucien shook her dry look. “By impaling them?”

“With wooden stakes,” she pointed out.

Lucien’s eyebrows rose. He nodded briefly, as though acceding to her point, and started to read the book in his hands.

“You’re not serious, are you?” Rupert asked as he removed a pouch of tobacco from his cardigan pocket. “A cure for lycanthropulism? My, you do find the most interesting projects. I thought the Cauldron of Daghdha was an ambitious undertaking, but you’ve outdone yourself with this one. Lycanthropulism...” Rupert started to chuckle as he packed the tobacco into his pipe.

“I’ll find it,” Natalie said in response, looking up at her colleague, and turned the page she’d been reading. The Cauldron of Daghdha was an ancient Celtic artifact rumored to leave nobody unsatisfied. At least that project had benefits for everyone. She’d found some maps of ancient Ireland and felt certain she was on the right trail for that.

Lucien looked up in surprise, then smiled. “We’ll find it,” he corrected. “We’re partners now.”

Her cheeks bloomed with embarrassment at being caught talking to the ghost, then realized how he’d interpreted her words.

“Oh, uh—”

Natalie placed her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. Ghosts. “That’s not what was meant,” she said, intending the words for Rupert, but glaring at Lucien. “We are not partners. You are blackmailing me to help you find this make-believe cure so that Ned and anyone else I know stays alive.”

“Oooh,” Rupert said, twisting in his seat to stare at Lucien.

“Which goes to prove my point that vampires can’t be trusted,” she said, glaring at the handsome man who sat across from her, staring at her warily.

“I can’t be trusted?” Lucien leaned forward in his seat. “You’re the one whose been playing dead all these years, Natalie,” he argued.

“Because a vampire killed me,” she shot back.

“Not just a vampire, though, right?” Lucien tilted his head and stared at her expectantly.

“Okay, fine. A vampire and a werewolf. Happy? For the record, I don’t trust either breed,” she muttered. She definitely didn’t trust Lucien, either.

She eyed him now. “The sooner we prove or disprove this cure, the sooner you can be on your way.”

Lucien leaned back in the seat and stared at her for a moment, then his nose twitched and he frowned. “Do you smell something?”

She glared at Rupert, who smiled back at her as he chuffed on his pipe. “Let’s just read,” she said tiredly and turned her attention back to her book.

* * *

Lucien glanced over at Natalie. Her chin was cupped in her hand, her eyes blinking ever so slowly, her face pale and drawn. They’d been at this for hours. Natalie had made several trips to the library, and there was still a book trolley with a large number of tomes to sift through. They’d spoken occasionally, when one or the other had found something of potential interest, but had mostly read in silence. It hadn’t felt awkward, though. No, it had been eerily easy to slide back into that comfortable routine of reading alongside Natalie.

She’d changed a little, despite his attempt to cling to the past memories. Every now and then she’d shaken her head or nodded, as though having a silent conversation with herself. It was cute. Now, though, she’d been silent for the last half hour and looked to be fighting a losing battle against sleep. He wondered if she realized she’d been reading for the last two hours with her glasses perched on top of her head.

He closed the book with a snap and set it down on the pile that now reached the same height as the armrest of the chair he was sitting on.

“Come on, we need a break,” he said.

Natalie jerked upright, as though startled awake. She frowned. “No, we can keep—” she paused to yawn “—going.”

He glanced at the window behind her desk. The night sky was beginning to lighten. “I can’t. I have to go before the sun rises, and you need sleep.”

She yawned again then shrugged. “You’re right. I guess I’m not used to pulling one of these study all-nighters, anymore. I’m beginning to skim a lot of this stuff, and I might miss something.”

Or she might face-plant on her desk as she passed out from exhaustion. Lucien refrained from commenting.

“Okay, well...” She rose and walked around her desk as he stood from his chair. “I guess you go to whatever dark place you’ve found for yourself, and I’ll meet you back here tomorrow night.”

He remained where he stood and she had to halt in front of him to prevent herself from walking right into him. He surveyed her carefully. She looked weary. He realized this was her second straight night of little to no sleep, thanks to him. Guilt flared as she weaved a little on her feet, and he grasped her shoulders.

“Go home, get some sleep,” he said in a low voice.

She frowned up at him. “You can’t compel me, Lucien.”

He sighed. “I’m not trying to compel you, Natalie. I just want you to get some rest.”

She grimaced. “Right. So I can be back here, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to help you search for something we don’t even think exists.”

“No, because I actually care about you, and you’re exhausted.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and he frowned. Vulnerability never sat well with him. He hated it, but he couldn’t stop his next words, either. “Will you be here tomorrow night?” She’d said she would, but he needed her to promise—she kept her promises. Or, she had, long ago.

Her eyelids flickered, as though she sensed his vulnerability and was as equally uncomfortable with it as he. “Yeah, I’ll be here. We made a deal, remember? I’ll keep my end of the bargain as long as you keep yours.”

Thoughts of her packed car and that guy who’d offered his truck as a replacement haunted him.

Natalie sighed. She lifted her fist and extended her pinkie finger, encased in the soft leather glove.

“Pinkie swear, I’ll be here,” she murmured and then narrowed her eyes. “Pinkie swear my friends are safe.”

He gaped at the gesture. She was the only one who’d ever pulled this with him. Good God, if any of his business opponents ever found out, he’d lose his dangerous edge in negotiations. All those years ago when they’d shared secrets by her bedside, she’d always held him to account. He knew how gravely she viewed a pinkie swear. He lifted his pinkie and curled it around hers.

“Pinkie swear,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ll keep you and your friends safe.”

Her brow dipped at his words, but only for a moment before another yawn surprised her. She pulled her hand away from him to cover her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Right, I’m off to crash for a couple of hours, and then I’ll get back to this.” She started to walk around him but he grabbed her arm gently to halt her.

She was so close, he could smell her, that sweet scent edged with spice. “Wait,” he said. Her eyes met his in surprise, a flash of wariness tinged with curiosity and something a little warmer glinted as she returned his gaze before dropping briefly to look at his lips. He smiled and her stare returned to his. He raised both hands to the top of her head and removed her spectacles, folding them carefully before handing them back to her. “Don’t forget your glasses,” he whispered. He tilted his head forward.

A book flew off the shelf, hit him in the cheek, and he reeled back. “What the hell?” he growled in shocked surprise.

Natalie gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

“I’ll defend your honor,” Rupert said smugly, dusting off his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as Lucien rubbed his cheek and bent to pick up the book. Shakespeare’s Macbeth. “It must have fallen off the shelf,” she offered with a wince.

He eyed the bookshelf that stood three feet away. “Yeah, it fell,” he said, not buying it one bit. He handed her the book, but held on to it briefly as she clasped it. She was still wearing her gloves, he noticed.

“I’m trusting you,” he said softly.

She nodded solemnly. “That goes both ways, Lucien.”

He dipped his head and strode out of the room.

He shut the door behind him then turned back to look at the plaque bearing the lettering Professor N. Segova. His brows pulled together. She used to call him Luc, once upon a time. He sighed as he walked away. Well, at least now he had her cooperation.

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