A cold blast of water hit Niall square in the face, because he was on top, but Evan got the resulting waterfall in the same place, blinding and dousing both of them.

They broke apart in reaction. Christ, the water had to have come from the creek, because it was frigid enough to freeze his lungs. As one, they saw Alanna standing several paces away, holding the empty bucket. She was deathly pale.

At Evan’s regard, she fell to her knees, bowing her head. She gripped the bucket like she couldn’t let it go. “I’m sorry, Master. It seemed the only way to stop it.”

Evan swiped the water from his brow, considering her. Niall couldn’t read his expression, such that when the vampire stepped toward her, Niall tensed. However, Evan dropped to a knee, covering her clenched hands. “Alanna, it’s not your place to stop an argument between me and my servant.”

She nodded, keeping her head down, her nose almost touching his knuckles. “But you were fighting about me. My fate. I don’t wish to cause anger between you. It’s . . . upsetting to me.” Lifting her face, she gave Evan an earnest searching look, then turned that expression toward Niall.

When she’d told him so calmly that she knew her time was limited, there’d been a flat deadness to her gaze. He expected she’d looked the same when she made the decision to betray her Master. She’d known there was no going back, that her fate was set. She was standing on the cusp of Hell, and the ground would give way under her feet in short order, plunging her into an eternity of torment, and the only way she could manage it was by feeling already dead.

That was not the expression she had now. She wasn’t dead at all, so full of life it made everything in him hurt. He didn’t know if he believed the idea that a servant followed her Master into the afterlife, but, as he’d told Evan, at one time he hadn’t believed in vampires. He could say he didn’t know how she dealt with the possibility that she might spend eternity with the Master she’d betrayed, but he was watching her do it, every day. With grace and strength, as Evan had said—and nightmares that plagued her dreams.

“You’ve been with each other so long,” she continued. “I am so honored, so grateful to have the chance to see . . . to be a part of what you have with your Master, no matter how long my time here lasts. Please don’t fight about who or what I am.”

Niall stared at her, unable to summon any words. Evan touched her face. “Go inside,” he said quietly.

Nodding, she rose. She left the bucket. Evan straightened, watching her disappear back in the cabin. He had his back to Niall. His shirt had been torn, and there was a trickle of blood below his left ear, diluted by the water so it stained the collar. When Evan turned at last, the gray eyes swept over Niall, his own dripping hair, the tense lines of his body.

“You still look fair scunnered, neshama. But I don’t think her nerves will take another round.”

Evan knew a great many languages, and could pull off a Scottish accent passably well, as he proved now, with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I know you’re frustrated about the girl’s situation. But stewing about injustices that result in the astonishing conclusion that life isn’t fair is pointless.” He lifted a shoulder. “As for the rest, you know certain things about me, Niall. If a man doesn’t accept a wheel is round, then it does no good for me to tell him it is. He must come to the obvious truth himself.”

The vampire closed the gap between them once more, placed a hand on his shoulder. “But I will tell you what you need to hear. She matters to me. As do you.”

A quick thread of his fingers through Niall’s wet hair, then Evan was gone, likely headed for the bowels of the house. A good thing, since the sun would be showing its dawn rays over the mountain’s edge far too soon.

“Fair scunnered.” Niall snorted to himself, shook his head. As vampires went, Evan had more compassion than most. Niall could usually pick up the vampire’s moods, but there was a different dynamic with Alanna in the mix. Harder to pin down. Of course, he was honest enough to admit that could have as much to do with where he was at this point as the vampire’s own state of mind.

He didn’t know what it all meant, but he only had the choice Evan had given him, to wait it out.

As always.

Since they’d been derailed by their argument, Alanna didn’t have the opportunity to sleep between the two males as Evan had intimated would happen. Her body was aching to be used after watching Evan take his servant right over her body, and letting Niall spend his seed on her flesh. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the heat of their lust wash over her again, the short gusts of Niall’s breath against her collarbone as Evan thrust into him.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, reconciling herself to taking a short nap alone, when Niall appeared in the doorway. He had a towel and was drying his hair, a reminder of her unthinkable transgression. Yet she would have done it again. She couldn’t bear them fighting about something as irrelevant as her situation, even if it brought punishment on her.

“If you’re nae too tired, we’re going to Asheville.” At her blank look, he added, “You’ll need something to wear to the wedding, aye? Evan and I keep things stored that can be shipped to us, but we have no reserves of women’s clothing.” He shot her a faint smile. “Evan’s never tried to dress me in women’s clothing, or had the urge himself, thank God. Him in a bra and heels is an image I wouldnae want burned in my brain.”

She blinked. “Are there cross-dressing vampires?”

“I met one in Amsterdam. When he shaved his legs and wore fishnets, he could compete with any starlet I’ve seen. Decent lad. His female servant was a professional wrestler. Six feet tall and the most bonny head of red hair you’d ever see. Damn near beat me in a caber toss.”

“Do I have time to get a shower?” She almost wished he’d say no, because she liked his scent on her skin. When his gaze slid down her throat, over the modest cleavage exposed by her cotton shirt, she knew he was thinking along the same lines. As a third-mark servant, he could smell himself on her even more vividly than she could.

“Aye,” he said. “Take off the clothes, muirnín. All of them.”

She swallowed at the heated command in his voice. Her body needed no awakening, but apparently his own had recovered quickly. Standing, she removed the shirt, let it fall. Unhooked the bra and watched his eyes flicker with lust over her bared breasts, the nipples already tight peaks under his gaze. When she toed off her shoes and removed the trousers and underwear, he was two steps closer. She held her breath as he closed the gap, brushing his fingers over her arm, her waist, her upper thigh, and then she caught hold of his arm for balance as he stroked her clit, her wet labia.

“You’re hurting for it, aren’t you, muirnín? Selfish bastards, we didnae do a thing for ye. Evan says for me to take care of that.”

It might be true or not, but she didn’t want the risk of asking Evan herself. She wanted to be touched, to be held and filled, hard, the way Evan had filled Niall. She was already trembling when Niall opened his trousers, releasing his cock, full and thick. Catching her around the waist, he lifted her onto him with effortless strength, standing in the middle of her bedroom, one hand palming her ass, the other snarled in her hair as he lowered her onto his erect cock, filling her inch by blissful inch. She was already spasming around him when he reached the hilt. As he lowered them both to the bed, him over her, she clasped her legs around his hips, not wanting to let go of him until this scalding need eased.

“There you are, lass. You’re such an eager wee thing.” He shoved himself deeper, and she made a soft cry that pleased him, for his eyes flamed hotter, and he did it again. “Hold on tae me now. I want to take ye to climax so fast you’ll feel ye stepped on a roller coaster.”

Fast or slow, she wanted this. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she buried her face into his chest and bit down on his flesh as his hips pistoned between her legs. Slow then fast, then slow again, making her work her hips against him in response.

“Please . . .” She whispered it against his flesh, tasting him. He lifted up enough to push her down flat on the bed, hold her there with a hand on her throat, his other hand tracing the dried tracks of his come over her breasts, her abdomen. She kept her legs clasped tight around him, her inner muscles milking him, begging him to move again, because watching him touch her like that, idle tracings of his seed, his cock still and full inside her, broke her into pieces.

“Shhh. Be still, muirnín. Feel how hard you make me. I loved marking you.” Then his fingers brushed her hip and something cold touched her heart. No, she didn’t want that to intrude on this moment. She put her hand over his, but he made a reproving noise.

“Arms above your heid. No interference with what I do to ye.”

She didn’t want to interfere, but Niall was studying the third mark she carried as Stephen’s servant. “Please . . .” She didn’t want him to say anything. At the time she’d received it, she thought it was evidence of what she would do for her vampire Master. Take her own life if needed, a mockery now. But the mark was shaped like a dagger, the universal sign of betrayal.

Niall said nothing further. He slid his arm back under her waist, moved them up the bed, which changed the angle of his penetration, making her whimper with pleasure. He’d told her to keep her arms above her head, but when she reached for his face, he didn’t stop her. She traced his jaw, his brow, lingering on his nose and mouth. She didn’t get to touch many of those who’d touched her. Not this way. Not with the time to consider what emotions might be passing behind his brown eyes, the words held back behind the firm lips.

“If I could save ye a moment of pain, lass, I would. We both would. We’d fight dragons for ye.”

It made things hurt inside of her, so badly she couldn’t speak. She was afraid of what might happen to her when Stephen died, but she hadn’t anticipated having something she might regret leaving. Someone. Letting her hand drift to his shoulder, she drew close to him once more, burying her face in his neck. He could make her lie back, look at him, but instead he increased the constriction of his arms around her, cradling her like a child while he stayed deep inside her, caring for her with his compassionate silence, the demands of his body, nurturing the emotional and physical both.