“Dulcea,” Mircea said patiently. “I am a target independently of anything you will ever do. And I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

I shook my head. “Nobody can be sure of that, not anymore. We almost lost Rafe; we did lose Sal—”

His eyes closed, and a flicker of something crossed his face. “If I had broken her bond as she asked, Tony would not have been able to use her.”

“He would have found someone else. We were vulnerable because of the problems within our alliance. He exploited it.”

“Nonetheless, I will blame myself for that, always. And for Nicu’s death.”

I swallowed. I was still trying to deal with that myself. He’d died to protect me, and I’d barely even known him. And the only times I had talked to him, I’d mostly been yelling. Marco was right—there was a lot about vamps I still didn’t understand.

“At least Marco’s okay,” I said, thinking about the last time I’d seen him. He’d been assigned a bed in the clinic, while the penthouse was being remodeled. He’d looked surprisingly cheerful for a guy who’d been staked through the heart. That would have killed anyone below master status, but Sal hadn’t lived long enough to take his head, too, so Marco would recover.

“But it looks like I’m off guard duty for a while,” he’d informed me, and then he’d made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. I’d just stared. I’d never seen him so happy.

“I have been too busy of late,” Mircea said, watching Dee strip a pink negligee off a mannequin while a valiant salesman tried to shove her size fourteen foot into a maybe size eight shoe.

“I don’t think it’s going to fit,” the sweating salesman gasped.

“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that,” she muttered, and shoved it home.

“You’ve done the best you could,” I told Mircea. “That’s all any of us can do. And that’s . . . I think that’s what I’ve come to realize. I can’t keep the people I care about safe by distancing myself. They’re at risk anyway; they’re always going to be. I just have to love them now, while I can. Now is all we have.”

“I am afraid I am not following your reasoning, dulceaƫă,” Mircea said gently. “You want closer relationships, yet you push me away?”

“I’m not putting this very well,” I said, frustrated. “What I’m trying to say is that the geis we were under gave us feelings for each other. But they were feelings we might never have had otherwise. I need to find out if what I feel is based on something more permanent than a spell gone awry. I want to get to know you. I want you to get to know me.”

“You wish to be courted?”

“If that’s what you want to call it. Yeah, I guess.” He looked thoughtful. I took a breath and almost did it—almost asked about the mysterious brunette. But then I let it out again without saying anything. Screw it. I’d had an awful week; I deserved a break. Besides, if I was going to his court, I’d have plenty of time to ask around. And if he did have a mistress . . .

“Is there a reason you are looking at me like that, dulceaƫă?”

“Like what?”

“The last time I recall seeing something similar was on the battlefield—from an adversary.”

“I’m not your adversary, Mircea. I just want to know you better.”

“And you cannot get to know me as we’ve been?”

“Not and keep a clear head, no!”

He smiled at that, and then his gaze shifted to a spot over my shoulder and it faded. “These doubts wouldn’t have anything to do with the company you’re keeping of late, would they?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer before the shop door was thrown open and a furious war mage stomped in. Pritkin spotted me and his eyes narrowed.

“You shaved my legs?!”

Mircea looked at me and folded his arms across his chest. I looked from one unhappy face to the other and suddenly remembered that I had somewhere else to be. “You know, Jonas said something about lessons,” I said quickly. And shifted.