A Hunger Like No Other

before they will come for me. Or worse.'

'What do you mean, or worse?'

'They'll find a way to hurt you. Find a weakness and exploit it like a scourge. They just won't stop. Isn't there a group of Lykae living in the next parish over? My aunt, the one I love best in the world, could attack them with a viciousness that would stagger you.'

He ground his teeth. 'You know what bothers me most about what you said? I should be the one you love best in the world. Me.'

She gasped at the words and the surprise feeling that flashed through her all the way to her toes.

'And of the other, if anyone in my clan is weak enough to be captured or killed by wee fey…women, then they needed to be culled from the pack anyway.'

That statement brought her crash-landing back into the conversation. 'They are small and fey looking. They also kill vampires regularly. My aunt Kaderin has destroyed more than four hundred of them.'

His lips curled. 'An auntie tells you tales.'

'There's proof.'

'Did they sign a paper right before she worked their heads off?'

She sighed, and when she didn't answer, he leaned forward and squeezed her foot. 'When Kaderin kills, she snaps out a fang—to be strung with the others. The line runs the length of her room.'

'All you're doing is endearing her to me. Remember, I'll see every one of them dead.'

'How can you say that when I am one? Or part of one. Whatever you want to call it! One of them is my father.' He opened his mouth to speak, but she said, 'You can't spare him only. Because I don't know who he was…or is. That's why I was in Paris searching for information.'

'What of your mother?'

'I know more about what she was doing a thousand years ago than I do about when she was pregnant with me. We do know that she lived in Paris for some time with my father. Just the fact that I insisted on traveling alone should tell you how important it was to me.'

'Then I will help you. When I return and after you see your family, we will solve this.'

He was so assured it would be done. So says the king.

'What was your mother's name? I know the names of about twenty or so Valkyrie. Even know some legends told around a fire. Was she another bloodthirsty witch like Furie? Does she have a trailing name like Myst the Coveted or Daniela the Ice Maiden? The beheader, perhaps? The castrator?'

She sighed, weary of this. 'Her name was Helen. Just Helen.'

'I never heard of her.' He grew quiet, then said, 'And your last name? Troy? At least your aunts have a sense of humor.'

Her gaze flickered over his face.

'Oh, no. No' going to believe that one. Helen of Troy was human at best. Most likely a myth or a character in a play.'

She shook her head. 'Nope. She was Helen of Troy by way of the country of Lydia. She's no more a myth than my aunt Atalanta in New Zealand or my aunt Mina, of Dracula legend, in Seattle. They came first. The warped stories come after.'

'But…Helen? At least that explains your looks,' he muttered, clearly shocked, then frowned. 'Why in the hell would she stoop to a vampire?'

She flinched. 'Listen to your disgust. Stoop to my father, you mean.' She grasped her forehead with her fingers. 'What if he is Demestriu? Have you ever thought about that?'

'Demestriu? I know that is no' the case. I will help you find your father—you will have your questions answered. I vow it. But you are no' his.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'You're gentle and beautiful and sane. His issue would be like him.' His eyes grew blue. 'Malevolent, filthy parasites that belong in hell.'

A chill crept up her spine. To hate so deeply…it would have to spill over to any vampire. 'We're kidding ourselves, Lachlain. This will never work between us,' she said, in a tone that even she recognized was utterly defeated.

His brows drew together at her words as if astounded she felt that way. But how could he be?

'Yes, it will. We've trials to overcome, but they will be overcome.'

When he said it like that, when she couldn't sense even the minutest hint of doubt, she almost felt herself believing disparate beings like themselves could make this a go. Almost. She ventured a reassuring expression for him, but didn't think she pulled it off.

He suddenly rasped, 'Christ, lass, I will no' argue with you when I've been too long to find you.' He reached forward to cup her face with both hands. 'Let's speak of this no more. I have something I want to show you.'

He lifted her from the bed, setting her on her feet, then began leading her to the bedroom door though she was naked.

'I need to put on a nightgown!'

'No one's here.'

'Lachlain! I'm not walking around willy-nilly naked. Okay?'

His lips curled as if he found her modesty endearing. 'Then go put on the silk I'll soon be ripping from you. You've no respect for your clothing.'

She glowered, crossed to her dresser, and chose a gown. When she turned back, she found he'd slung on a pair of jeans. She'd realized that about him—he'd begun trying to make her feel more comfortable. Of course, he still often insisted that she 'stretch herself.'

He led her downstairs, then past the gallery, until they approached what had to be the end of the castle. There he covered her eyes with his hands, leading her into a room that felt moist and smelled decadent and lush. When he removed his hands, she gasped. He'd taken her to an ancient solarium, but now the light it captured was the moon's, illuminating all that grew within.

'Flowers. Blooming flowers,' she breathed, staring in disbelief. 'A night garden.'

Emma turned to him, bottom lip trembling. 'For me?'

Always for you. All things for you. He coughed into his fist. 'All your own.'

'How did you know?' She ran to him, leaping up into his arms. As she hugged him tightly—she really was getting to be a strong wee lass—she whispered her thanks in his ear, with little teasing kisses, easing the empty, feral desperation still clinging to him. He'd been stunned to realize how convinced she was that they would end.

After last night and today, he'd hoped their bond had been cemented. For his part, he was lost for her. Yet she dared envision a future without him? When she scrambled down, he reluctantly released her.

He simply had to use every means at his disposal to convince her. As she flitted back and forth among the plants, gently skimming her fingertips down the slick leaves, he wanted to convince her right then and there. When she brought one bloom to her lips and brushed it over them, closing her eyes in bliss, his gut tightened with want. He forced himself to lie back on a long chair, but felt like a voyeur as he watched her.

She crossed to a marble counter lining one of the glass walls and stood on tiptoe against it to reach the hanging plants strung above. Her short shift rose with each of her reaches, flashing him glimpses of her white thighs until he could take it no longer.

He stalked up behind her to clench her hips, and she stilled.

In a breathy voice, she asked, 'You're going to make love to me again, aren't you?'

In answer, he lifted her onto the counter, tore off her shift, then pressed her naked body back into the blooms.

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