Jagrin's eyes narrowed, as though sensing the direction of Lucien's thoughts. His thin lips curled into a sneer. "We are promise-bound, dragon. Daemon, at least, respect that power. And as to the ways of my people ... there are some things still sacred, still secret among my kind. They will remain so."

Lucien gave a curt nod. That he could understand. And beyond the arcing lightning that raced ever faster over the ancient stones, his future awaited.

He reached out one hand, then the other, his entire body reacting as the energy sizzled though him. Lucien thought of Rowan, of that missing piece of himself that she carried. Of completion, and to finally be loved. His mind filled with the sinister, seductive whispers of goddesses long vanished from this world. There was a rush of hot, incense-laden wind.

A doorway opened.

And Lucien stepped through.

Rowan dreamed of violence.

In her sleep she ran endlessly through a blackness so thick she couldn't see what was before or behind her, nothing to break the oppressive darkness but the heavy sound of approaching wings. It was the worst nightmare she'd had in months, full of a terror so intense, so immediate, there was no doubt in her mind it had to be real. Sleeping, she felt doomed.

Waking was worse.

She had fallen asleep cradled in Gabriel's arms, drawing from his warmth and surrounded by a protection she finally accepted, even cherished. It was the abrupt removal of that feeling of security, more than the foreign hands that replaced Gabriel's upon her, that jolted Rowan awake. And all around her, there were whispers.

"He's coming ... hold her, Lars ..."

"Ah, there it is, can you feel it? No, he warned us not to mark the Wolf. Careful with the needle, that stuff's potent..."

"Watch her hands, remember what Jagrin said about her hands ... damn it, here it comes, hold her now ..."

Rowan forced her eyes open when she felt the air itself begin to quiver, though she desperately willed all of this to be just part of her dream. What she saw, however, left no doubt that this was a waking nightmare. The room was full of pale figures with vibrantly red lips and burning eyes, all moving quickly as they readied for an arrival Rowan barely had to guess at. Cold hands gripped her by the arms as someone behind her made quick work of chaining her hands together before she quite registered what was happening. All she knew was that she had been safe, and happy. And now she was neither.

Oh, Ama Dyana, where is Gabriel?

The thought slid like a knife into her heart—cold, sharp, immediate pain. She jerked her head to and fro, scanning the darkened room for him even as the intruders finally noticed she was awake. She had just caught sight of Gabriel's large, powerful frame crumpled in a heap off to one side of the couch when an unpleasantly familiar face inserted itself directly in her line of vision.

"Well, look who's awake," he grinned, looking for all the world like the reanimated corpse he aspired to be. "You've really been slumming it since you ran out on us, beautiful." He jerked his head toward the area where Gabriel lay. "A werewolf, when you could have had me? I should be insulted."

"Get your hands off of me, Mace," Rowan growled, terror for Gabriel warring with impotent fury. "I don't know what brought you all the way here, but I can assure you it isn't worth your while. And you had better pray to whatever god you worship that you haven't harmed the werewolf."

Mace Ravenwood, the head of the nest she and Bastian had lived in back in Reno, winked unrepentantly. He had been the one to take them in, to find her a job, such as it was. The one who had seemed so generally unconcerned with the presence of two strange blood-drinkers in the sprawling compound at the foot of the mountains.

Apparently he had seen more than she thought.

"Don't worry, baby. We only drugged the big guy. Though where he's going, he'd probably rather be dead." Mace chuckled a little at Gabriel's expense, fangs flashing. "You, we're just holding for your fiancée." He swept his eyes dispassionately over her exposed skin, then glanced at Gabriel's still form, which was similarly unclothed. "Somehow I doubt he's going to be happy about the picture. Hey, Lars. Go find me a shirt or something for Rowan." He looked back at her. "Not nice to tempt the mercenaries, you know."

Rowan growled, exposing her own fangs. She was terrified. She was also completely furious. Lucien, not satisfied with making her life miserable on his own, had enlisted help. And Gabriel, as she had feared, was paying the price. She didn't want to keep looking at him, didn't want to let these vile creatures know the extent to which she cared, but it was nearly impossible. At least from the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, she could tell he was still breathing.

"Now, now," Mace clucked as he caught what Lars threw at him and shook it out to reveal one of the loud Hawaiian shirts that Gabriel was so fond of. The sight of it, so cheerful in such an awful situation, made Rowan want to weep. Mace simply looked it over, shrugged, then tugged it around Rowan's shoulders and began to button it up despite the fact that her hands were chained together behind her back. She didn't miss the fact that his hand brushed against her breasts repeatedly as he went about the task. Nor, she saw from the black amusement in his eyes, did he mean her to.

Her jaw clenched with determination. The chain was going to hinder her a little. But Rowan had no intention of going quietly.

The air rippled again, and she knew she had no time to lose. The vampires, eight in all, turned their heads in unison to look at the open apartment door. But instead of the dingy landing, the doorway was suddenly filled with blinding blue light.

Rowan concentrated, digging deep to stoke the flame she carried within her. She could only hurl it from her hands, it was true. But she could drink it in, take it into every part of herself until lovely warmth had suffused her skin. Warmth to her, however, was not going to feel quite the same to any who lay hands on her. Rowan closed her eyes, willing her inner heat outward, until she knew she was flushed from it.

She embraced her gift, and burned.

Mace, his attention completely diverted by the light at the door, didn't even look as he reached for her arms to pull her to her feet.

There was a spark, then a hiss like water thrown on a hot griddle. Mace cast her one horrified look before his dark eyes rolled back in pain. In a split second he was engulfed in flames. Rowan kept up the heat as Mace staggered from her, a terrible, inhuman shrieking emanating from the fireball he'd become. He moved blindly as Rowan watched, the other vampires shrinking from him, from the light and heat. Then, all at once, Mace stopped still as though struck. His voice disappeared in mid-shriek, and just like that, he crumbled into dust in the center of the room.

Silence, but for the strange electric hum rising from the light in the door. Then one of the bigger vampires stepped toward her, eyes going red with anger.

"You ... you killed Mace, you bitch! I don't give a damn who wants you, you're going to pay ..."

She hissed in reply, ready to fight. She'd burn them all in a heartbeat if she could. But then a familiar voice, low and silken, reached her ears. And all of the fire she'd been ready to use turned cold.

"I know she can be trying, but I wouldn't suggest it."

Lucien. And this time there would be no escape.

Rowan was filled with a sick certainty. He would never stop chasing her. She would never be safe. But even if it were true for her, it didn't have to be for Gabriel. With all the strength she had, she would make sure of that.

She turned her head to watch Lucien as he strode across the room, heading directly for her. She had wondered, on occasion, whether Lucien would hesitate when the moment came. He was a puzzle to her, a violent maelstrom of a man who kept his own counsel beneath the shadow of his father. But she had no illusions. Lucien was all dragon. There would be no mercy from him this night.

He stopped in front of her, violet eyes ablaze. She tensed, waiting for him to simply scoop her up and try to carry her off, but instead, after a moment of thought, he extended his hand. And behind her back the chains fell away. He was taking a big chance in setting her free, Rowan thought. And she needed to exploit that as best she could. But she would have to be careful. He would be expecting something. Frantically, she tried to think of a way to get him to spare Gabriel.

"Do you now concede defeat and accept me, my Rowan?"

She cringed a little at the sound of it, at the possession inherent in his tone. Had she truly thought Gabriel was overly possessive? She'd been a fool then, Rowan thought bitterly. A fool about many things, most of all love, until it was too late.

Holding on to what she had of him, and the knowledge that he was safe, would have to be enough. And the last she swore she would see to, no matter the cost. Taking a breath, she slid her arms through the sleeves of the oversized shirt and placed one hand into Lucien's, long and elegant and graceful... and capable of such evil.

His skin was surprisingly warm to the touch, she noted. That, and much softer than she'd assumed. But then he had been raised to rule, not toil. He looked at their entwined hands for a moment, his brow slowly furrowing as though something he'd expected had not occurred. She couldn't imagine what he had thought would happen. She herself felt nothing, only the touch of a man who could have been anyone. Not like Gabriel, the slightest brush of whose hand sent countless delicious currents running wild just beneath her own skin. Whose rough and calloused palms scraped like softest velvet over her body.

Gabriel. He still lay quietly, deep in a drugged sleep mere feet away and surrounded by vampires who looked like they would love to drain him of his blood and throw his carcass out into the street.

Rowan rose to her feet, allowing Lucien to draw her up and stand before him. He was taller than she'd remembered, she thought as she faced him. Taller, and decidedly more dangerous looking. Coiled strength radiated from him, at odds with the gentleness of his touch. Still, that gentleness did nothing to put her at ease. The hungry desperation that she'd seen in Lucien the night she had first refused him had only intensified, making dark hollows beneath his eyes and causing his mouth to look tight and drawn. He kept looking at their hands, eyes reflecting puzzlement ... and, it seemed to her, worry.