He backed into the hall and Abigail followed him.

He stood aside watching her carefully, very guarded. She wanted to say something to him, to offer some comfort, but no words came. Since he made no move to invite her to chat, even a little, she turned in the direction of the north rooms away from Gerrod. Gus hurried to move in front of her, leading the way.

“I’ll bid you good-night,” Gerrod called out.

Abigail stopped and turned toward him. By now, he stood beside his library door. She lifted a hand, still feeling so strange after having heard about his blood-starvation and why hadn’t she known of it? Although, honestly it explained a helluva lot about his perpetual irritability. Men needed to be fed. She was sure that axiom was as true in the realm world as it was in Flagstaff. Megan’s husband got a lot louder when his blood-sugar bottomed out.

As she turned back to follow Gus, her thoughts started tumbling around until at last she caught up with him and asked, “What does Gerrod usually do now, after a battle like this? Does he go to bed?”

“No, he’ll probably call for a bottle of whiskey, drink about a third of it, and pass out in one of the big chairs in front of the fire in the entrance hall. It’s sort of a ritual.”

“I guess he would deserve at least that much,” she said, but her footsteps grew slower and slower, until she stopped altogether.

Gus turned back to her, his three ridges floating upward, questioning.

Her right shoulder now faced back down the hall. She could see the light from the library flicker as though Gerrod walked back and forth in front of a lamp, pacing.

“Is everything all right?” Gus asked.

“Just give me a sec.” She headed back in the direction of the library. Her heart was slamming in her chest because she had never done anything like this in her life.

When she reached the doorway, she had meant to walk right up to him and ask him a few pointed questions, but she couldn’t. Gerrod now sat in his chair, his elbows on the massive central table, his head in his hands. He rocked slowly, back and forth as if in great pain.

Oh. God.

Something inside her settled very deep, maybe falling into that hole that was his voice, or maybe she was just feeling all his pain on some kind of vampire frequency he was emitting right now, she wasn’t sure.

But a decision came to her, though she felt strongly it had to be just for this night, this one night.

She retraced her steps up the hall, rejoining Gus.

For the past year, she had seen Gerrod in more than a dozen settings, consoling a mother who had lost a son, kissing a grandmother on her cheek, offering stern but solid advice to a younger Guardsman, teasing Augustus. She wondered if this was the true basis for her attraction to him, that on some level she knew the vampire and knew him well. His character showed in everything he did and all that he was, every word he spoke, every soft touch on a shoulder, every sympathetic gesture.

Abigail blinked. She couldn’t believe she was going to do this, but after seeing Gerrod in a shattered state in the library, she had to. Besides, her blood had that thick feeling again, almost lumpish as she liked to think of it. Though she never really felt in danger of a heart attack or anything, she did feel a pressing need to give some of it away. And right now she might just have a solution that didn’t involve donating to the blood bank.

“Come with me, Gus. I want you to show me to the mastyr’s bedroom.”

Gus’s brows rose almost to his upper ridge. But after staring at her for a long moment, he nodded very firmly, then said, “Yes, mistress. If you will follow me.”

Once in his bedroom, which she knew well from the tour he’d given her many months ago, she said, “And where is the bathroom?”

Gus led her into a side chamber, very deep with a huge copper tub. She drew near, leaned over and pushed the plug in hard. She turned the water on adjusting until the temperature was on the hot side.

“Where are the herbs he bathes in?”

“Herbs, Mistress?”

“Yes, he always—” She felt her cheeks grow warm. That she always smelled Gerrod, and that his scent reminded her of fresh rain in the forest, was not something she intended to reveal to Gus. “That is, where is the soap he would ordinarily use?”

“Ah.” He moved over to the shower and brought a bottle of gel, an amber color.

Abigail took it and sniffed the spout. But it didn’t smell like fresh rain. “Towels?” she asked.

As she watched the steam rise from the copper tub, she laughed. “Gus, there is something more. Do vampires like hot water, I mean hot like this?”

Gus smiled and his smile broadened to a grin. “Very much. Ah, mistress, you have gladdened my heart.”

“And now, there is one more thing I should like, then I’m hoping you will send all the staff to bed.”

He blinked at least four times. Finally, he bowed to her. He actually bowed. Then he said, “Understood. And what is it you’d like me to do?”

“I should like a platter of fruit and cheese and your mastyr’s favorite German sweet wine. Nothing more, or less, mind.”

“Very good. Very good,” he said.

“You will leave the platter outside the bedroom, in the mastyr’s sitting room.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“And I am asking for complete discretion.”

At that, he blinked as though not understanding. “Discretion?”

Abigail bit back her smile. She couldn’t think why she had bothered asking for his discretion. She might as well have asked him to cut off his right arm. “Well, try for a reduced narrative.”

He screwed up his lips.

“Oh, very well. Speak as you will.”

“Yes, mistress.” But he grinned.

She sighed. She had set her feet on this course, and there was nothing to be done now. No doubt by tomorrow afternoon, when the staff rose early for the night, the entire castle would know she had spent the early morning hours in the Mastyr’s rooms, that is, if Gerrod permitted her to stay.

Abigail waited until the tub was sufficiently full which wasn’t very long. Given Gerrod’s size, he would displace a lot of the water. When she had turned the faucets off, she steeled herself for what she had to do next and for what she wanted to do more than anything else in the world, Realm or otherwise.

When she reached the doorway of the bedroom, before moving into Gerrod’s private sitting room, she removed her heels and placed them by the door, well out of the way. She really didn’t want Gerrod tripping over her shoes.

Chapter Three

Gerrod sat at the map table, elbows on the hard wood, his head in his hands. Fatigue wasn’t the only thing he felt, but a terrible despair. He couldn’t seem to put the images of the attack out of his mind nor could he imagine when this madness would end.

Never, was the only thing that came to mind.

And how was he to bear ‘never’?

He heard a soft padding of feet in the hallway, very soft and unfamiliar. He lifted his head and felt the frequency of his battle power begin to charge, a low vibration deep in his gut.

His heart thrummed in his throat.

Had the Invictus somehow bypassed all his security measures and invaded the castle?

But red hair appeared, instead of red wind, and the soft clinging cream gown that Abigail still wore from the wedding.

Abigail, oh, dear Goddess, no.

“Why aren’t you in your room?” The sudden burst of adrenaline, of fearing that an enemy had come to the castle, left him irritable once more. “You should be in bed, asleep.”

But she strolled forward, now in her bare feet, as though she belonged in his house. “Just thought I’d have a look around.”

He turned away from her, fatigue settling in hard. He wanted his whisky and the deep leather chair in front of the fire. Whisky always eased the tremor in his hand. He’d have to summon a doneuse, but not tonight. “Did you leave your room and forget your way? That part of the castle is a rabbit warren.” He was trying to be polite but he wanted her gone so he wouldn’t have to think about what he wanted to do to her, what he had almost done to her earlier.

“No, I didn’t forget my way.”

“Good, that’s good. But you must be exhausted.”

“Not so fatigued as you, I’m sure.” He looked up at her at that. She was standing just a few feet away. The light from the lamp on his desk seemed to enhance her delicate complexion. She was very beautiful, almost ethereal because of her fair skin.

She held out her hand to him. “Come. I’ve made something for you. I think it’s what you need. I’m not sure, but I believe it will do. Will you trust me?”

“This is a strange sequence of words coming from you.” He narrowed his gaze. “Always the enigma. But I am too tired to decipher your meaning.”

She smiled. An image drifted through his mind, something that felt as though it came from the future, probably just a fantasy. But she was in his bed, asleep on the pillow next to him.

He gave his head a shake. It was late, he had battled tonight, and now he was imagining things.

She had been a good sport and hadn’t complained once during the attack. She had even saved the boy. He owed her this little bit, he supposed, despite how tired he was, to accept whatever kindness she had prepared for him.

He rose to his feet but didn’t take her hand. He feared touching her. Since she was able to connect with his personal frequency, he didn’t want to relive anything as dangerous as what he had shared with her earlier in the forest.

He swept his hand in the direction of the doorway. “Lead the way, Mistress Abigail.”

She turned and without any hint of flirtation, began walking down the long hall. She was going in the opposite direction of the entrance hall, which meant he would have a long trek back to get to his whisky and sink into his leather chair.

But he had told her he would oblige her and so he would.

He only suspected something was wrong when she led him not in the direction of any of the public rooms, or even toward the guest suites of which there were twenty on the far side of the castle, but rather straight down the hall to his private quarters.