She wanted him. That wasn’t a secret. And he had four weeks to convince her it wasn’t a byproduct of her bloodlust. He didn’t have any illusions that her newborn cravings hadn’t contributed to her loss of inhibition. They did. But bloodlust didn’t create feelings. She hadn’t latched on to Ruben or Gedeyon or Hirut. She only reacted to Lucien, which—in his mind—proved she’d wanted him before.

Makeda pulled her wrist away. “You don’t like vampires.”

“I like you.”

Her eyes met his in challenge. “And when I don’t die after a few decades?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” The thought of her dying made him snarl. Made him remember those terrifying—he could admit it in retrospect—moments on the night of her accident.

“There were plenty of rumors around the lab about your kink. You only like human women. Maybe it was a blood thing. Maybe it was the body heat. I don’t judge. But personally, I don’t think it was either of those.”

Lucien crossed his arms. “Enlighten me.”

“You’re an arrogant jackass.”

And she had the guts to tell him to his face. That was probably part of the attraction. “I’m arrogant. And?”

“You see humans as inferior, and you don’t want an equal for a partner. You want a pretty creature you can drink from and fuck for a few decades until they want more than you can give them and they leave you.”

He felt a muscle in his jaw jump. “You know nothing.”

“Afraid of commitment, Lucien? Is that why you don’t take an immortal mate?”

His arm shot out and wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight into his torso. He pressed his chest to hers. Locked his thighs around her hips.

“So perceptive, Makeda. You think you can put my relationship history in a neat box? You think that will help you avoid the clawing need for me in your gut? It won’t.”

She didn’t look away. “It’s the bloodlust.”

“Liar.” He leaned forward, enjoying the cool brush of her breath against his lips. “And for the record, I do like human women. They’re soft and warm and delicious all over. I like to take my time with them. Like to wring pleasure out of them until they’re wrecked from it.”

There was that anger again. But hidden behind it was pure desire.

“But right now, I find you more interesting.” He leaned back and pushed her away. “Pick some music. Anything you want. Just make it loud.”

A moment later, the driving sounds of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Green River” filled the lab.

“You’re archaic,” Makeda muttered. “I’m getting you an iPod.”

“If you want to waste your money, go ahead.”

He forced her out of the lab a few hours before dawn, dragging her away from her work before she collapsed or broke something. She’d begun to go in circles on possible trial protocols for the Irish hospital where the Elixir patients were being kept. It was driving her to distraction. He couldn’t seem to reason with her, so Lucien turned off the generator, tossed her over his shoulder, and threw her in the lake.

She came up sputtering, but then she let out a long breath, sank into the water, and he knew he’d been right.

They swam out to the rock where they’d sat the night before, and Lucien instructed Makeda to shadow him in a deliberate tai chi routine Baojia had taught him before they left California. They stood in the center of the lake, feet planted on the smooth grey rock, as the moon circuited the sky and the stars grew faint. He felt the threads of energy weaving around them like a tapestry. Earth and water. Sky and stars.

Peace.

He felt Makeda behind him, her young amnis bright and wild. It shimmered like the cool reflection of the moon. Burst around him like the curls that dried in a riot around her face.

He turned to face her and she halted in her forms.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He started another form. “I just want to look at you.”

She kept her eyes locked with his as they moved. “Why?”

“You’re beautiful. And I don’t understand you.”

“No, you don’t understand why I’m interesting to you,” she said.

Clever, clever.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Were you this interested in me when I was human?”

“Yes.” He paused and thought back. “No.”

“Make up your mind, Lucien.”

He stopped moving and stepped closer. “I think I have.” He ran a finger across her collarbones. She was wearing a sleeveless tunic and a pair of loose pants that night. The tunic dipped low enough he could see the faint pulse of her erratic heartbeat. He could hear it.

She closed her hand over his and pulled it away from her skin. “You might have decided, but I haven’t.”

Lucien cocked his head. “Why do you hesitate to take what you crave?”

“I don’t do out of control well.”

“I beg to differ. I remember your bite on the night you woke. You do out of control very well.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms. “Do you indulge every craving you have?”

“It depends on what it is,” he said. “If it’s something that would be good for me, then yes. And Makeda”—he bent down and whispered in her ear—“I would be very good for you.”