A gentle pressure filled her head as he pushed her out of his mind. “None of that,” he said.

“But you’re suffering.”

“We’ll talk later. I brought help.”

A young woman stepped out from behind him. She had thick, curly black hair and sad brown eyes despite the tentative smile on her face. She came up to Paul’s chin, but the way she curled in on herself made her seem smaller. Younger.

She didn’t raise her eyes to look at Andra, as if it would somehow be disrespectful. “My lady,” she greeted her with an awkward curtsy.

Lady? There it was again. Andra looked at Paul in question.

“I promise you’ll get used to it.”

Not likely. “Call me Andra. Anything else just confuses me.”

The woman nodded, but still didn’t look up. “I’m Grace. I was told you might need some help caring for your sister.”

“Thank you, but we’re fine.”

“No, you’re not, Andra,” said Paul. “You need a break, and Grace here knows what she’s doing. Let her help.”

Andra didn’t want any help. Nika was her responsibility. “Not interested.”

Grace flushed a deep, humiliated red. “I’m, uh, sorry for overstepping my bounds. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. I won’t bother you again.” She turned to leave, but Paul was faster and caught her arm.

Grace flinched as if she’d been slapped, and cowered, covering her head with her arms. It was a knee-jerk reaction. One she’d gotten used to making, apparently.

Someone had hurt Grace. Often.

Paul’s jaw clenched as he saw Grace’s reaction for what it was, but it didn’t seem to surprise him. He loosened his grip and pretended Grace hadn’t thought he was going to hurt her.

Grace recovered and forced her body to straighten. Her cheeks darkened further with embarrassment and she glued her eyes to the floor.

“Please stay, Grace,” said Paul in a gentle, soft voice.

Seeing his long fingers wrapped around another woman made Andra’s stomach turn. It didn’t matter that it was just her arm. He might as well have been feeling her up, the way it made Andra burn with jealousy.

Before she realized what she was doing, Andra was off the bed, her fists clenched.

Paul’s mouth curved with a knowing grin. He looked at Andra with his brows raised. “Problem?”

“No,” she choked out.

“Liar.”

Grace tugged against Paul’s grip. “I really should go. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, my lady.” The poor thing was nearly beside herself with embarrassment. It wasn’t her fault Paul was fondling her.

“Let go of her, Paul.”

“Not until you agree to let her help. She knows how to care for Nika. Don’t you, Grace?”

Grace gave a shaky nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell Andra how you know so she’ll relax and let you help.”

“My mother was comatose for two years before she died. We couldn’t afford a hospital, so I cared for her.” The way her voice broke, Andra was sure that the death had been recent.

All the residual jealousy burning inside Andra evaporated. Grace had lost her mother, too. That tied them together somehow. Made them sisters.

Grace would need a distraction—something to keep her occupied. Someone to talk to. “Let her go, Paul. She can stay.”

Paul released her, and Grace stood still, vibrating with tension as if unsure what to do next.

Andra took pity on her. “Come here and meet my sister, Nika.”

Paul slipped out of the room.

Grace stepped forward tentatively. She looked down at Nika, and the look of compassion that filled her eyes with tears told Andra that her sister would be safe with this woman. Grace would not allow her to come to harm. “How long has she been like this?”

“Not long. She’s always been too thin, but it got worse this week.”

“Does she have a feeding tube?”

“No. She didn’t want one.”

Grace nodded. “We’ll have to get some fluids in her. When was the last time she was changed?”

“Changed?”

“Isn’t she wearing a diaper?”

Andra hadn’t even thought about that. She shook her head.

“That’s okay. I can take care of it. I brought some absorbent pads along, as well as extra sheets. Just in case.”

Paul came back toting a large box. He set it on the dresser. “Are you going to need anything else?”

“I’ll have to put in an order for some diapers, but Torr’s supplies will work until then.”

Paul’s jaw tightened. “How is he?”

Grace patted Nika’s hand as if telling her everything would be okay. It was such a natural, unconscious gesture for her, Andra didn’t even think she knew she was doing it. Maybe that was how she’d been with her mother.

“He’s the same,” said Grace.

“I should go see him.” Paul’s voice was heavy with grief, making Andra wonder who Torr was.

“Please don’t.” Grace blushed and looked at the floor. “I mean, I think it would be better if you didn’t. I’m not sure he could stand seeing you . . . like that.” She motioned to her neck and pointed at the pale band of skin around his throat—where his luceria had hung before Andra had taken it from him.

“I understand. Will you give him my best when you see him again?”

“Yes, sir. I will. Thank you.”

“We’re glad you’re with us, Grace. You’ve taken such good care of him.”

“I’m not sure he’d agree.”

Paul gave her a sad smile. “He’s a proud man.”

Andra peered into the box and saw sheets, some extra pillows, and cans of hospital-grade meal-replacement shakes. Maybe Grace did know what she was doing. She’d certainly thought this through better than Andra had.

“He’s a good man. I pray the Sanguinar will find a way to help him,” said Grace.

“I’m sure they will,” said Paul, but he didn’t look convinced.

Grace’s face lit with hope.

Paul came up behind Andra. She could feel the heat of his body reaching out to her, drawing her in. “It’s time for your ceremony, Andra.”

“I need to stay and help.”

Grace shook her head, keeping her eyes down. “It’s best if you don’t, my lady. When she’s better, she’ll be glad it was a stranger caring for her needs rather than you. It’s less embarrassing that way.”

Andra didn’t care about that. She’d do whatever needed to be done to take care of Nika.

“Grace is right,” said Paul. “And all the men are waiting. It won’t take long.”

Andra looked at Grace’s sweet face. She was already sorting through the things in the box, her movements confident and sure. She knew what she was doing better than Andra did.

Paul looped his arm around her shoulders. “It will be fine. I promise.”

Andra gave in. Taking a few minutes away, where she could think straight, was probably going to do Nika more good than if Andra stayed and made a mess of things. Besides, ceremonies were boring. She’d have plenty of time to think while they droned on about whatever formal garbage interested them. Maybe she’d even catch a quick nap.

As soon as they reached the large auditorium-like room and Andra stood face-to-face with dozens of large, intense-looking men, she knew napping wasn’t in her immediate future. Every pair of eyes was on her—or more accurately, on her neck.

Her hand went to her throat in a nervous gesture. “Are these guys vampires?” she asked.

“No. Theronai. Like us.”

“Why are they looking at me like they’re really hungry and I’m a filet mignon?”

He lowered his voice and leaned close to her ear. “You’re certainly edible, but they’re staring because they’re all hoping that you might be compatible with them the way you are with me.”

“Can I bond with more than one of you?”

Paul hesitated and she felt a surge of fear clog their connection. “One at a time,” he said, sounding like uttering the words had cost him dearly.

Andra slanted him a sideways glance, but his face was a stoic mask. He led her up to a raised platform, and one by one the men started taking off their shirts and lining up at the stairs.

“You know,” she whispered to Paul, hoping to lighten his odd mood, “I’ve had some dreams that started out just like this.”

He lifted a brow and nodded to the first man in line. “Yeah? I bet none of them have ended like this will, though.”

The first man had a not-so-handsome face that was crisscrossed with thin scars, but she hardly noticed past his laser blue eyes. He walked up to her, knelt at her feet, sliced his chest open with his sword, and in a deep, solemn voice, said, “My life for yours, my lady.”

A warmth curled around her, then solidified into a heaviness that bore down on her shoulders. Paul’s strong arm held her around the waist and kept her steady.

“That’s Nicholas Laith,” said Paul.

The man rose, gave her a smile and a wink, and hopped off the platform to make room for the next man.

Each one of them went through the same routine, and each time, that invisible weight grew heavier. By the time the ceremony was over, Andra could hardly stand. Sweat had formed along her hairline and between her breasts, and she was shaking from head to toe.

“It’s almost over,” said Paul.

The last man came up to her. He’d hung at the back of the room the whole time, watching silently, standing apart from the rest. He had short brown hair and watchful black eyes. When he got close, Andra caught the faint scent of a forest in winter coming off of him—clean and cold. He didn’t remove his shirt, which caused a stirring of whispers among the other men. Instead, he cut through the fabric, cutting deeper than the rest of the men, by the amount of blood he spilled.

“My life for yours,” he vowed, refusing to bow his head, but instead looking into her eyes as he gave the words.

Andra stumbled under the weight, but Paul held her up. The man held out his hand, and the ring he wore was nearly white. Only the faintest trace of sapphire blue swirled beneath the surface.

Andra felt Paul’s body tense around hers. The man said nothing, but there was a silent air of challenge in his stance.

“I won’t give her up, Iain,” said Paul. His voice was rough, almost a feral growl of sound.

Iain was silent, but he lifted Andra’s hand and pressed a hot kiss into her palm. She felt his tongue flick over her skin and quickly pulled her hand from his grasp.

In the center of her palm was a dark red mark, like the one Paul had placed on her before.

“How dare you put a bloodmark on my lady?” demanded Paul. Some primal, instinctive need to kill rose up in Paul, clogging their link with its power. Andra didn’t understand the cause, but she knew what it meant.

He reached for his sword, but Iain’s was already unsheathed. If she didn’t stop this, it was going to end in bloodshed. Lots of it.