Distract her from her thoughts.

"I thought you and I might attend Byrne's winter tournament," Michael said carefully.

She considered it. "Byrne was the big redhead with the Braveheart tattoos, right? His seneschal looked like he'd never started shaving."

"Byrne's seneschal, Jayr, is a female," he corrected.

"She's a chick? You're kidding." She laughed. "Isn't that against the rules?"

"Jayr is the only female seneschal among the Kyn," Michael admitted. "Little is known or said about her."

Alexandra tucked a pillow under her head. "All because she's a girl, or because she works for Byrne?"

"Her origins are mysterious—there were no female Templars," he reminded her. "I know that Byrne changed her and took her into his service after she saved his life during the battle of Bannockburn."

She gave him an ironic look. "Gee, that sounds so familiar."

"I did not make you my servant," he said, holding up his hand. "You made me yours."

"Yeah, right." She chuffed out some air. "So, how old was the kid when Byrne stuck her with fangs?"

"I cannot say. Obviously rather young."

"Huh." She sat up suddenly. "Hang on. Are there little-kid vampires running around out there?"

He shook his head. "Adolescents, yes, but no child under the age of fourteen has ever risen to walk the night."

She didn't appear convinced. "You're sure about that? In her first book, Anne Rice had this little girl—"

"Anne who?"

"The author I like who writes about vampires," she said. "Or, to be more accurate, she did. Now she's big into the boy Jesus."

"We are not vampires," he told her firmly. "We are vrykolakas. And to my knowledge, Jamys and Jayr are the youngest who rose to walk the night."

"I love how you say that," she told him conversationally. "You make getting infected with a gene-altering, plague-born pathogen sound like the kissy parts in Phantom of the Opera?"

He arched his brows. "There were kissy parts?"

"I don't remember. I might, if someone hadn't started nibbling on my ear two minutes after I popped in the DVD." She hit him on the arm with the pillow. "So was the transition different for the kids?"

"Neither was considered a child during their human lives," he advised her. "Adulthood in our time began at age twelve."

"You were letting sixth-graders run the world? No wonder it was so screwed up." She nibbled absently at the side of her thumbnail, "It would be pretty interesting to have a look at Jayr's blood, see how it measures up against Jamys's and the adult Kyn samples I've collected."

"Why would her blood be different?"

"She might not have made it through puberty before the change," Alexandra said. "Presenting age has a lot to do with how a disease progresses, and how effective treatment can be. We can now cure eighty-five percent of kids who develop certain types of leukemia, for example, because they're at the developmental stage of life optimum for aggressive treatment of the cancer. Children and adolescents adapt to disease differently than adults do, too. All that means is that I may find something in Jayr's blood that wouldn't be present in yours or mine. Think she'd give me a couple of vials?"

An invisible weight lifted from his shoulders. "You will go to the tournament with me?"

"Sure. It's not like I've suddenly developed agoraphobia." Alexandra traced two fingertips from the inside of his knee to the midpoint of his thigh. "I'm fine. Quit worrying."

"I have you naked, in my bed, with your feet in my hands." He smiled. "There is no male in the world less worried."

"For a vampire, you're a terrible liar." Alexandra kissed his right knee before resting her cheek against it. "I'll let you get dressed and go make arrangements for the trip. You don't have to nibble on my neck and ravish my body forever."

The self-contempt in her voice did not match the strange, stricken set of her features. Michael sensed something beneath the fear—something Alexandra had been keeping from him since he had brought her back from Ireland.

He knew she would not confide in him until she was ready, but he might coax her into it. "Phillipe will make the arrangements. As for me, I can ravish your neck and nibble on your body. Or we can be boring and simply talk."

"You're so easy. I think that's why I fell in love with you." She sighed. "But if I don't let you out of here soon, Phillipe is going to raise the jardin and send them in to haul me off you."

"Not if Phillipe values the jardin." He rubbed a hand against the back of her head. "Do not concern yourself, chérie. You and I have earned this respite. We will take all the time that we need for ourselves."

"You're fine. I'm the one who's screwed up." She wound her arms around his legs. "I don't know what it is, but every time I think about you leaving me alone, I start having a panic attack. It's almost worse than how I felt when I was locked up in Richard's dungeon."

Was this what disturbed her?

"We were kept apart for too long," he told her. "It damaged the bond between us. It needs time to strengthen and heal."

"So I'm still working out my separation anxiety issues? Baby, we both know I can't keep—" The phone rang, interrupting her.

Michael grabbed the receiver and brought it to his ear. "Is the mansion on fire?"

"No, master," Phillipe said. "Forgive the disturbance, but it is Suzerain Byrne. He insists on speaking with you. He says the matter cannot wait."

"Put him through." Michael watched his sygkenis bend down to nip the inside of his thigh before rolling away onto her back. He put his hand over the receiver. "It is Byrne. This will take but a moment, chérie."

"It's okay." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Take your time."

He caught her hand with his. "We need not go to Florida. I would be very happy to spend eternity here in bed with you."

"Right." The line of her mouth flattened. "Let's hope you don't have to."

As his seneschal transferred the call, Michael watched his lover enter the adjoining bath. Thanks to Alexandra's Kyn blood, her back had healed without scarring, but he imagined he could still see the ghostly remnants of those terrible claw wounds. She had blamed them on an unprovoked attack by Richard, who had been driven to the brink of madness by a massive dose of animal blood.

Michael believed it to be the truth—Alexandra had no reason to lie to him about anything that her captor had done—but when she had told him about Richard's assault, she had sounded almost apologetic. For some reason unknown to him, the incident had left her feeling guilty and frightened.

Had Richard done more than maul her?

"Seigneur." Byrne's voice came over the line, distracting him. "Your man said you were not to be pestered, but this cannae wait." He stopped and then added gruffly, "You and your sygkenis are well?"

"We are." He heard water running and breathed in the heady lavender scent from his lover's body, now blending with the herbal bath salts she favored. "I had intended to call you tomorrow. Alexandra and I will be attending your tournament this year."

"We are honored."

"Alexandra should meet more of our kind," Michael said. "My motive is more personal; I will be selecting and reviewing candidates for suzerain. I have named two new jardin to accommodate the refugees crossing over from France and Italy, but neither group has clear leadership among them. Now, what has you calling me in the middle of the morning?"

"I meant to invite you and your sygkenis to the tournament so that you might choose my successor," Byrne said. "I'll not be suzerain past Christmas."

"Indeed." Michael sat up and reached for his trousers. "Am I to know the reason for this sudden abdication?"

"I'm weary, lad." Byrne exhaled heavily. "I've been suzerain of the Realm for better than two centuries, and I've no stomach for it anymore. It's past time I stepped down."

The prospect of losing one of his best lords did not concern Michael as much as the defeat in his friend's tone. "If you need time away, I will appoint someone to temporarily serve in your place."

"It cannae work, seigneur."

"You may change your mind—"

"Will you bloody listen to me, Michael?" Byrne demanded. "You know what I can do. You've seen it yourself. Six hundred years and better I've controlled it. But tonight I nearly let loose on four bairns, Jayr, and Rob. I'm done."

"Very well." Michael cradled the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he stepped into his pants. "I reserve the right, however, to use whatever means I have to persuade you to remain as lord of the Realm."

"You can try." Byrne uttered a bark of something that distantly resembled a laugh. "I've no said a word to the lads, and I'd be obliged if you'd keep this between us until you've made your choice."

Michael debated on whether or not to demand more explanation from the man. He valued Byrne as one of the American lords that he could count on implicitly to follow his orders without question. At the same time, he understood the fine line Byrne had walked since becoming Kyn. As a human, he had been a man feared and dreaded by anyone who had encountered him on the battlefield. Even after he had been cursed, his capacity for violence had served the Kyn well.

Those days were no more. Were Byrne to lose control of himself now, in a place crowded with people, as the Realm often was…

"Very well, mon ami!"

After they exchanged farewells, Michael heard water spilling, and got out of bed to go into the bath. The oval tub, its waters fragrant with eucalyptus and mint, sat overflowing onto the floor. Alexandra stood naked before the foggy wall mirror, staring blankly at the blurred reflection of her golden-skinned body.