Sara felt better by the time they reached her apartment. She made Gabriel sit down in the kitchen while she removed his cloak and shirt, then washed the blood from his wounds, shushing him when he tried to tell her she was wasting her time, that he was in no danger, but she refused to listen. He was hurt and she needed to care for him, to assure herself that he was all right.

Maurice, still silent, made sure the doors and windows were locked, that the strings of garlic were in place. He sprinkled fresh holy water across every entrance, and then, feeling that he had done all he could, he stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Sara tend Gabriel's wounds. Incredibly, the wounds looked as though they were already healing.

"You're very quiet," Gabriel remarked, glancing up at Delacroix.

Maurice shrugged. "What is there to say? Nothing in my life has prepared me for anything like this."

"I wouldn't think so," Gabriel allowed with a faint grin.

"Do you think we can truly protect Sara from that... that woman?"

"I don't know, but I intend to try."

"Are there more of those creatures out there?"

"As many as she cares to make." Gabriel stood up. For a moment, he gazed at Sara, his fingers caressing her cheek. It was all so impossible, he thought, their love, the problems they faced, not only now, but in the future. Should they find a way to defeat Nina, they would have to find a way to weave their lives together.

He kissed her lightly, then turned toward Maurice. "I have to go out."

For a moment, his words, and what they meant, hung in the air. Sara and Maurice exchanged glances: hers, resigned but accepting, Maurice's filled with condemnation.

A muscle clenched in Gabriel's jaw. "I won't be gone long. Lock the door after me and don't open it for anyone." He fixed Maurice with a hard stare. "Do you understand?"

Maurice nodded.

"Gabriel, please don't go."

"I wish I could stay, cara," he replied, reaching for his cloak, "but I cannot change what I am, not even for you."

Sara placed her hand on his arm. "If you're in need, then take from me, but please don't go out."

"Sara, no!" Maurice's voice was sharp.

"It's my decision, not yours," she retorted.

Maurice met Gabriel's eyes. "She's been through enough tonight." He paused, the color draining from his face. "If you need blood, take mine."

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow at Delacroix. "I know what it cost you to make the offer," he said solemnly, "but you've both been through enough for one night."

Sara followed Gabriel into her bedroom, watched while he slipped into a black shirt, drew his cloak around his shoulders. At his nod, she wiped the holy water from the sill and opened the window.

"I won't be long," he promised, dropping a kiss on her brow, and then, like a drifting shadow in the night, he was gone.

Gabriel paused in the darkness, his nostrils testing the wind, his senses searching for any sign of Nina's presence, but the night was dark and quiet, with only the soft sigh of the wind to break the stillness.

On silent feet, he prowled the darkness, the lust for blood growing ever stronger within him, fueled by the pain of his wounds, by his rage.

He searched until he found what he was looking for, a whore with pale skin and long black hair. He called her to him with the power of his mind, pretending it was Nina who stared up at him, helpless to resist, Nina's blood he was taking.

And he wished he had the power to control Nina's mind as easily as he manipulated the mind of the whore.

He was tempted to drain the girl dry, to sink his fangs into her throat and take and take until nothing remained but a dry husk, and by so doing, find a measure of release for the rage, for the sense of helplessness, that was pounding through him. Nina had sent that monster to abduct Sara, had frightened her, and then had dared to take her blood...

Gabriel lifted his head. A quiet word put the girl to sleep. When she woke, she wouldn't remember him, or what had happened.

He walked slowly back to Sara's apartment, wondering if Sara was now in Nina's power. Did he dare take his rest in Sara's apartment while there was a chance that Nina had enslaved Sara's mind?

As amusing as Nina might find it to have Sara destroy him, it would be a quick death, at least for him. Somehow, he didn't think Nina would find much satisfaction in that. She'd want him to surfer more, want Sara to suffer more. What was it Nina had told Sara? This is just the beginning...

He swore under his breath. There had to be a way to defeat Nina, to catch her off guard, but how?

When he returned to Sara's apartment, he found her asleep on the sofa, her head pillowed in Delacroix's lap.

Gabriel tried not to notice how well they looked together, two mortals in the prime of life. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing without doubt that Sara and Maurice would have been married now if he hadn't returned to Paris. She would have had a chance for a normal existence with Delacroix, he thought bitterly. And yet, stronger than his guilt for intruding on her life was the violent surge of jealousy that spread through him when he saw Delacroix drape his arm around Sara's waist, the gesture blatantly protective.

"Go to bed, Delacroix," Gabriel said. "I'll look after Sara."

"If it weren't for you, she wouldn't be in any danger."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed ominously. "Don't you think I know that? Dammit, if I could undo what's been done, I would. But it's too late for that now. Nina won't rest until she has her revenge."

"Why don't you leave Sara alone, get out of her life. If you're gone, maybe that vampire woman will leave her alone."

"Maybe, but it's not a chance I'm willing to take, not when it's Sara who'll have to suffer the consequences if you're wrong."

"You haven't done much to protect her so far," Maurice said.

"Tread softly, Delacroix," Gabriel warned, "else you find two vampires seeking your destruction."

"What if she's changed her mind? What if she decides she no longer wants to spend the rest of her life with a... with you? Will you kill me then?"

In a single fluid move, Gabriel stepped forward and lifted Sara into his arms.

"Go to bed, Delacroix," he said, his voice as hard as flint, as cold as ice. "Get out of my sight now, while you can."

All the color drained from Maurice's face. Body rigid with fear, he stood up and started toward the spare bedroom.

"Delacroix!"

Slowly, Maurice turned around.

"Make sure the doors and windows are secure before you retire."

With a curt nod, Maurice exited the room.

"You wouldn't really hurt Maurice, would you?"

Gabriel glanced at Sara. She was staring up at him, a troubled expression on her face.

"Have you been awake the whole time?"

Sara nodded.

"Is there any truth to what Delacroix said? Have you changed your mind? Is it him you want?"

"Will you kill him if I say yes?" Her gaze was steady on his as she waited for an answer, wondering what had possessed her to ask such a question.

The world seemed to hang suspended in time as she waited for his answer. She was acutely aware of the strength of the arms that held her, of the dark passion that blazed in Gabriel's eyes. A muscle jerked in his cheek, and then he released a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his being.

"I don't know, Sara," he replied quietly. "I honestly don't know."

Suddenly ashamed of playing such a cruel, coy game, she flung her arms around his neck. "You'll never have to find out," she said, her voice equally quiet. "I love you, Gabriel. No matter what happens, that will never change."

"Cara!"

His arms tightened around her, making it difficult to draw a breath, but it was a discomfort she could live with. Her eyelids fluttered down as he bent his head toward hers, and then he was kissing her, hotly, deeply, his tongue plundering her mouth as he carried her into the bedroom and closed the door, shutting out the rest of the world.

Gabriel lay on his back, his arm curled around Sara's waist, listening to the even sound of her breathing. He had made love to her twice before sleep claimed her, made love to her as if she were the only thing that could save him from eternal damnation. In her arms, with her body pressed to his, her voice whispering his name, vowing that she would love him all the days of her life, he felt whole, clean.

And yet, even when he had been caught up in the passion that blazed between them, he couldn't help wondering if he dared take his rest in her room.

He stayed awake the whole night long, holding her close, his gaze drawn time and again to her face. He had never known anyone so beautiful, so serene. Her hair was like the softest silk in his hands; her skin was smooth and warm, tempting his touch so that he found himself stroking the line of her cheek, the curve of her shoulder, the shape of her breast.

He had never loved anyone the way he loved her.

"She will never be yours." Nina's voice, softly mocking and filled with certainty, drifted into the room.

Easing himself from the bed, Gabriel crossed to the window and looked out into the darkness, and there, like darkness itself, he saw Nina standing in the light of the waning moon.

"Never, Giovanni," she said, and her eyes glowed like fiery coals. "If you will not love me, then you will not love her."

A violent tide of anger washed through Gabriel as he stared down at her. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Had he been able, he would have leapt from the window and endeavored to wring the breath from her body. But the same tokens against evil that kept Nina out of the apartment also served to keep him in.

The sound of her laughter, filled with knowing, burned his ears like acid.

"Soon, Gianni," she said, "soon she will be nothing but dust, and then a memory."

"Nina!"

She tilted her head to the side, a devilish smile playing about her lips. "Will you beg me again for her life, Gianni? Will you come outside and grovel at my feet?"

Rebellion mingled with a strong sense of pride rose up within him. He had begged her once before to no avail. But he would do it again, if she would only swear to leave Sara alone.

With a defiant lift of his head, he met her gaze. "I would come to you if I could, bella," he said with a wry grin, "but I fear I cannot leave this house."

"But you would if you could? You would come here to me, now, and beg me for the little mortal's life?"

He swallowed the revulsion that rose in his throat. "Yes."

"And what would you say?"

"Whatever you wish to hear," Gabriel replied.

"Get down on your knees, Giovanni," she said, "and let me hear what words you would speak to me."

Swallowing his pride, Gabriel dropped to his knees in front of the window. "I would tell you how lovely you are, that your beauty outshines the sun, that your lips are sweeter than nectar..."

"And you would not mean a word of it," she exclaimed, her anger evident in her tone, in her expression.

"I will say whatever you wish to hear," he repeated. "I will do whatever you ask. If you need to take a life, take mine."

"You would die for her?" Nina asked incredulously. "You would give up hundreds of years of living for that puny mortal female?"

"Yes."

"Then you will suffer even more greatly than I had imagined," she remarked thoughtfully, and amid a swirl of black skirts, she disappeared into the darkness. Gabriel watched her disappear and then, swearing softly, he rose to his feet, quietly cursing the holy water and the invisible barrier it created that prevented him from following her.

"One of us has to go out," Sara said the next evening. "You may be able to go for days with nothing to... to sustain you, but Maurice and I have to have something to eat."

Gabriel nodded. What she said was true. Three days had passed since Nina's midnight visit at the window. Sara had sent word to the theater that she was ill and unable to perform; Maurice had sent word that he had been called out of town due to a family crisis.

In the three days since Nina's appearance, nerves had grown taut and tempers short.

"Make a list, Sara, and I'll go," Maurice offered.

"Is that wise?" she asked, looking from one man to the other.

"He can protect you from her better than I can," Maurice said.

He was right, Sara thought, but who would protect Maurice? "We could all go out together," she suggested.

Gabriel stared out the window into the darkness, weighing the alternatives. Would it be safer if they all went out together tonight, or to wait and let Maurice go to the market in the morning? And what if one of Nina's creatures broke into the house while Maurice was gone and he was at rest? Who would protect Sara then?

"We'll go out," Gabriel decided. "And after you have eaten, we'll go to the gunsmith. I want you both to have some sort of defense against Nina's creatures."

"A pistol?" Sara shook her head. "I don't think I could shoot anyone."

"He's right," Maurice said grudgingly. "Nina has declared war on us, and we need to arm ourselves."

"Have you ever fired a gun, Delacroix?"

Delacroix glared at Gabriel defiantly. "No, but I can learn."

Gabriel nodded. More and more, he found himself admiring the young man. He might be nothing but a dancer, but there was nothing effeminate or cowardly about him.

An hour later, they went to supper at a small restaurant near Sara's apartment. Gabriel sat in the shadows away from the windows, his face turned away while Sara and Maurice dined on roast duckling with all the trimmings.

There was little conversation at the table.

As soon as the meal was over, they left the restaurant and went to visit the gunsmith. At first, he refused to open his shop, declaring he was closed for the night, but Gabriel flashed a gold coin, and he obligingly showed them his wares. He was whistling happily when they left, having sold three pistols in the space of ten minutes.

From the gunsmith, they went to the market where Sara bought enough food to last for several days.

It was nearing nine o'clock when they returned to Sara's apartment.

Gabriel had just removed his cloak when he sensed the intruders. He managed to fire a single shot before six hulking brutes overpowered him, dragging him inside the parlor. They drenched him from head to foot with holy water, then bound his hands and feet with thick chains. When that was done, one of the creatures placed a heavy silver cross on his chest.

Maurice, who had been rendered unconscious by a blow to the back of the head when he threw himself between one of the brutes and Sara, lay face down on the floor. The strong scent of blood rose in the air.

Sara screamed, and then fell silent as another of the brutes tied a gag over her mouth, then dropped a sack over her head. Slinging her over his shoulder, he disappeared into the darkness. The last creature lumbered across the floor and opened the drapes wide before he followed the others outside.

Gabriel writhed on the floor, helpless, while the holy water penetrated his clothing and burned through his skin. The crucifix, though no bigger than his hand, lay like a tombstone on his chest, making it hard to breathe. And all the while his skin sizzled and burned.

Wild with rage and pain, he cursed himself and Nina.

But the worst was yet to come, because all too soon he felt Sara's panic. As clearly as if he were there beside her, he saw the dark hole into which two of the beasts lowered her; heard Sara's muffled screams as they covered the deep, narrow hole in the ground with a thick layer of sod so that she was literally buried alive. He saw her struggle against the ropes that bound her hands and feet. A dirty strip of cotton cloth covered her mouth, muffling her terrified cries. The thick smell of damp earth, of fear, clogged his nostrils.

Gabriel! Gabriel, help me! Oh, please, help me.

Her cries tore at his heart, his soul.

Ignoring the agony burning through him, he tried to move, but the cross held him immobile.

Unable to free himself, he could only lie there, listening to her cries, her prayers, her silent screams. As the hours passed, hysteria threatened to engulf her, her voice grew hoarse, faint. He felt her panic when a worm crawled over her arm. And over and over again he heard her call his name, begging him to come to her, to help her.

He tried to speak to her mind, but his powers were weak, and growing weaker, and her terror shut out every other thought.

He glanced at the window. Only a few hours till dawn, he thought bleakly. And then the early morning sunlight would pour through the window, its golden rays scalding his skin, its heat incinerating his flesh.

The horror of it, the imagined agony, made him shudder.

He closed his eyes against the excruciating pain that racked him, and then, so softly that he thought he had imagined it, he heard a groan.

"Delacroix?"

A wordless grunt was his only reply.

"Maurice! Can you hear me?"

"Y... yes."

A thin thread of hope spiraled through Gabriel. "I need your help."

Another groan rose up out of the darkness.

"They've taken Sara."

"What... can I... do... ?"

"Can you reach me?"

"I'll... try."

Minutes passed. Long, agonizing minutes while Maurice slowly inched toward Gabriel.

"The cross," Gabriel said, his voice a harsh rasp of pain. "Get rid of it."

It seemed as though hours went by while Gabriel waited for Maurice to summon the strength to lift his arm, to remove the heavy silver cross from his chest.

Gabriel closed his eyes in relief, felt a small measure of his strength return. Lying there, he put everything from his mind but his hatred, his rage. He let it build within him, filling him until it consumed him, and then, with a mighty flexing of his muscles, he broke the chains that bound him.

Staggering into the kitchen, he stripped off his clothes and boots and scrubbed away all trace of the holy water. His skin was badly burned; in places, it hung from him in shreds of charred flesh.

He needed blood.

Slowly, he made his way into Sara's bedroom. For a moment, he closed his eyes and inhaled, letting her scent wash over him. Moving carefully, he slipped on a loose-fitting black shirt and breeches. Returning to the kitchen, he pulled on his boots, then went into the parlor. He put on his cloak, then knelt beside Maurice. The man was barely breathing; the back of his skull had been crushed, his hair was soaked with blood.

"Delacroix?"

Maurice's eyelids fluttered open. "Sara?"

"I'll find her."

"You... look... half-dead..."

"I am dead," Gabriel said flatly.

A wry grin pulled at Maurice's lips. "Me... too..."

There was no point in lying to him, Gabriel thought. At best, Delacroix had only a few minutes to live.

"My blood..." Maurice whispered hoarsely. "Take it... find... Sara."

Gabriel shook his head. For all the hunger burning through him, as badly as he needed nourishment to heal his wounds and restore his strength, he could not take this man's blood. Not now.

"Do it," Maurice urged.

"Are you ready to die?"

Maurice stared up at Gabriel, knowing without words what Gabriel was asking him. "You can... save me?"

Gabriel hesitated. Under other circumstances, a little of his vampire blood would have revived Delacroix, but he was too near death now for that to be effective. "If you wish."

"Would you... make the choice... to be what you are... again?"

Gabriel stared out the window, his heart and mind searching for an answer. Would he make the same choice again? He thought of all he had seen and done in three and a half centuries, and then he thought of the endless darkness, the years of loneliness, the awful, unbridgeable gulf that stretched between himself and all of humanity. Between himself and the woman he loved.

Slowly, he shook his head. In 350 years, he had never bequeathed the Dark Gift to another soul.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, "but you must decide now, before it is too late."

"Will saving me... weaken you?"

"Yes."

In that moment, Maurice made his decision. Gabriel was Sara's only chance, and the vampire was right. There was no time to waste.

"Take... my blood..." Maurice's voice grew faint. "Save... Sara..."

"As you wish," Gabriel murmured. And then, because Sara's life depended on it, on him, Gabriel bent his head to Delacroix's neck, determined to fulfill Maurice's last request.

Gabriel spoke to Maurice's mind, soothing the young man's fear as his fangs pierced his flesh. Delacroix went limp in Gabriel's arms; moments later, Gabriel felt Maurice's heartbeat slow and grow labored as he quickly drained the life's blood from the younger man's body.

Before Delacroix's heart beat its last, Gabriel drew away. Sitting back on his heels, he watched the light fade from the young man's eyes, heard the last breath of life whisper past Maurice's lips, and with it, his very soul.

Rising, Gabriel wiped the blood from his mouth. "Forgive me," he murmured fervently. "I only pray I am not too late to save her."