How had her mother known?

“I shall excuse myself and go worship, Your Holiness,” she said, as she would have if she were but a servant.

“You do that. And you might contemplate the fragility of life whilst you are in your state of reverence.”

maichen ran out of the sacred room and escaped through the halls to her own cell. As she closed herself in, she was breathing hard, her lungs burning, her hands shaking as she tore the hood from her head.

She had been spared, she realized, only because her mother found the appearance of propriety more valuable than punishing a daughter who had gone on a wander: if it got out that the Princess had been compromised by interacting with commoners, or even Primaries, it would not reflect well on the Queen.

For a moment, maichen contemplated staying in her rooms, but she wasn’t going to get many other nights like this. The mourning was ending soon with a s’Hisbe-wide ceremony where the Primaries and the general population would join in the Queen’s up-until-now private “pain.”

After that? Especially given that her mother was aware of her forays around the palace and the fact that she was to be mated? Leaving the Territory was going to become impossible.

Likely, she would find it difficult to even leave her suite of rooms.

She had to see iAm, especially if it was one last time.

Extinguishing the lighting overhead, she took off the jewelry at her throat and upon her wrists and left it on her bedding platform. As the with the prior night, she had informed her staff she needed privacy and would summon them at her leisure.

So she had some time.

Closing her eyes, she …

… spirited away, finding the ventilation shafts and using them to gain access to the great outdoors.

She was not unfamiliar with where Caldwell was. She had seen maps. But the reality of finding the city and locating one particular housing unit within it struck her as craziness.

Except then she homed in on the echo of her own self, her own blood. It was so much louder than she’d expected, a veritable beacon that led her into the dense buildings of the metropolis, those high spires of glass and steel that were as a man-made forest amid a landscape of asphalt and brick and restricted greenery.

Following the signal, she found herself zeroing in on a certain terrace among many others on one of the taller constructions—and upon her arrival, she did not reassume her form. She remained as a Shadow, pooling on a shallow porch-like function before a wall of glass.

Inside the living space beyond, iAm looked up as if instantaeously aware of her presence. Coming forth, he opened one of the massive panes by sliding it off to the side.

“You came,” he said.

Rising up from a loose collection of molecules, she became corporeal. It was only then that the frigid breeze from off the river down below penetrated her robes, flipping them to and fro as it chilled her to the bone.

“Inside,” he told her. “Let’s get you warm.”

She didn’t know what to say as she stepped over the threshold and the gusts were extinguished as he closed them in together.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

How he could read her so well with her mesh in place, she did not know.

And indeed … she had to tell him her truth. Even though it was going to spoil everything between them—how could it not? She had seduced him, and he had been the one to take her first, not his brother. She was also the female who, by his own admission, he had hated for so long, the reason for the ruination of his brother’s life.

“maichen?”

She studied him for the longest time, trying to find the words. How did she start? And why had she wasted the daylight hours fantasizing about him, when she should have been preparing to reveal herself?

She needed a moment further to think.

“There is naught,” she said, keeping her voice level as she started to walk around. “How lovely this is.”

At least the latter was not a lie. Everything was honey gold upon the floors and white everywhere else, the furniture understated in the great open space, the view expansive and spectacular.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her—from very close.

Jumping, she looked over her shoulder. He was looming behind her, his body seemingly poised for something.

For sex.

But no, she told herself. They needed to talk. She had to reveal herself to him; otherwise the passion, on his side, was a disingenuous manipulation of which she was guilty.

“Are you,” he growled softly as he stepped in against her body. “Hungry?”

Beneath her headdress, she licked her lips.

His hips rolled against her robing, what was no doubt a very hard, very thick erection pushing into the fabric that separated their bodies.

There would be time afterward, she told herself. She would tell him afterward.

The guilt was strong. The lust was stronger.

“I am,” she breathed. “But not for food.”

As if he read her mind, the lighting which rained down from the ceiling went out, effectively eclipsing them from any external viewers.

“I’m going to take that off,” he gritted, as if he hated her hood.

Abruptly, she was freer to breathe, see, smell.

The purr that percolated up out of his chest was that of an animal, but his hands were not harsh as he reached for her over-robe. Up and off her head the weight went, and then the lighter sheath beneath disappeared.

And she was naked before him.

His hands worshiped her as he ran them over her shoulders and down to her breasts. Bringing them together and up, he tasted one nipple and then the other, lapping, sucking—and oh, it was too good. Her legs went loose, and as if sensing this, he swung her up off her feet and carried her out of the light and airy room, down a hallway, and into a bedroom with a large raised mattress platform that proved to be as soft as a cloud.

“This is how I wanted it last night,” he said as he laid her out.

There was a light on in some small room, perhaps one with water facilities, and thanks to the dim illumination, she could revel in the obsessional nature of his expression: He regarded her with such rapt focus, she felt beautiful without his having to utter a word to that effect.

His broad palms swept down her legs. “I want to know all of you.”

“I offer my body to you,” she said hoarsely. “Do as you wish with me.”

Rhage was halfway across the Hudson River, heading for the other side of Caldwell in his GTO, when that feeling of being suffocated and light-headed hit him like a ton of bricks.

Swallowing a shot of bile, he cracked his window and turned off the heater. Didn’t help. About a mile later, he nearly pulled off to the side of the road.

“Get it together, ass-wipe.”

Fucking pussy. What the hell was his problem? He was uninjured, looking forward to cracking the case with Assail and his mirror-image cousins, and on the way to see his beloved shellan in his very favorite car. Life was as good as it could get.

He just needed to get a grip.

On that note, he tightened his hold on the steering wheel and started tapping his free shitkicker, the one that was not on the gas.

So close now. He was so close.

Maybe he just needed to hold his Mary for a little bit.

Havers’s clinic had been moved to this new, state-of-the-art location, and Rhage had been to visit only a couple of times: Once when he’d gotten an abdominal wound that wasn’t going to wait to head all the way back to the Brotherhood compound. Another when Mary had needed a pickup after attending to a female and her young son. Maybe a third time. He couldn’t remember.

When he finally got to the turnoff, he cursed at the breathlessness. At the rate he was going? He was going to need treatment.

Maybe he had a virus. Vampires didn’t get human ones, or cancer—thank God—but they could get taken down by colds and flu that affected members of the species.

Yeah, that was probably it.

Had to be.

As the GTO’s headlights finally splashed across a dull, unassuming little concrete-block structure, he felt the whatever-it-was ease off a bit, which was a welcome surprise. At least he wouldn’t have to see his Mary with him lookin’ all wall-eyed weird.

Getting out, he went around to the trunk and sprang the deep purple panel.

The sight of Mary’s duffel bag, which he himself had packed, brought back the symptoms: His head swam and his palms got sweaty—like he wasn’t standing in the cold wind with nothing but leathers and a muscle shirt on.

“Enough with this bullcrap.” He picked up the handles and lifted the bag out; then reshut things. “You’ve got to get your shit together.”

Approaching the low-slung building, he went into a nothing-special anteroom and checked in. A moment later, the elevator came up its shaft and opened for him. Like a lot of things that had to operate in the daylight by necessity, Havers’s newest facility was completely subterranean, the upper part nothing but a prop to weed out valid visitors from potential problems.

Like humans. Slayers.

Down into the earth. Out into the waiting room. As he emerged into the reception area, he wondered how he was going to find her—

“Oh, God, you’re here.”