Michael eyed the elevator, which had returned to the penthouse suite and was now descending again. "Lucan."

Lucan's tresora had been herding the prostitutes out of the club, and after the last was gone, he secured the outer doors. Rafael went to unlock the elevator.

It had been hundreds of years since the last time Michael Cyprien had seen Richard's chief assassin, but time melted away as Lucan stepped off the elevator. The red and black—Richard's colors, which they had all taken as their own as members of his, the first jardin—favored his old enemy. Against them he seemed taller, broader, and more powerful than any man in the room.

Richard had amused himself by making Michael wear the red and Lucan the black at his tourneys. Red Prince of Blood, Black Prince of Death.

Michael reached for the inner peace he had found since Alexandra had repaired more than his face, and watched his men assume their places around him.

The Black Prince came forward with his men in the appropriate positions around him, and executed a bow that would have pleased the starchiest of monarchs. "Seigneur, you grace our humble jardin with your presence. Welcome to my domain."

"Suzerain." Michael returned the bow without the unnecessary flourishes, and brought Alexandra to stand beside him. "This is my sygkenis, Dr. Alexandra Keller. Alexandra, this is Lucan."

"I have been eager to meet this miraculous new addition to our ranks." Lucan bowed again. "Your beauty leaves me speechless, my lady."

She eyed him. "You seem to be talking fine, and you could have met me in New Orleans. You remember. When you spied on us and assaulted my nurse?"

Lucan straightened and grinned, unashamed. "Nurse Heather was so sweet and compliant that I almost took her with me. How is she?"

"Alive, no thanks to you." Alex would have said more, but Michael caught her gaze, and she huffed out some air. "Fine. I'll be quiet now."

"Rafael." When the seneschal came forward, Lucan formally presented him, after which Michael did the same with Phillipe, and then they began the same with their men.

Michael knew Alexandra was bored two minutes after they had begun the formal ritual of presentation, but while he could often forgo it with suzerain he considered friends, it was vital to ensure that Lucan knew all of his men, and for Michael to know all of Lucan's. Jardin wars had begun over a single Kyn intruding on the territory of a lord paramount to whom he had not been presented.

At last all of the Kyn present had been named and acknowledged, and Lucan and Michael sat down with their seneschals at a long table swathed in ivory linens, upon which bejeweled silver chalices sat.

As Alex sat down next to Michael, Rafael offered them bloodwine. "Thank you, no," Michael told him.

"Rafael will taste it first, if you like," Lucan drawled.

Michael returned the cool gaze. "Alas, we have already fed."

"While I have not." Lucan sipped from the glass Burke filled for him. "My seneschal tells me that you seek a member of your jardin. Have you so many that you cannot keep track of them, seigneur?"

The men behind Michael tensed.

"My new duties can be somewhat distracting," Michael said, acknowledging the problem without reacting to the insult of Lucan pointing it out. "That is why I must soon select a new suzerain for New Orleans."

"I had thought you would give Thierry Durand his own clutch," Lucan said, "now that he has found sanity."

"Thierry does not wish to serve as suzerain, and Phillipe refuses to abandon me." He smiled briefly at his seneschal. "I was hoping to rely on you for a recommendation. But then, you have your own distractions. Under those nondescript clothes, I would think Samantha Brown is quite attractive. She certainly reminds me of a woman who was once part of your entourage a long time ago."

"Indeed." Lucan's eyes turned to ice. "A pity that I have already claimed her for myself, seigneur. You remember the old traditions, I trust?"

Michael was appalled and fascinated. "Detective Brown is your kyrya?"

"She will be."

"Hello." Alex waved a hand between the two of them, breaking their eye contact. "Some of us here still don't speak much fang lang."

"A kyrya is a Kyn's human lover. We began taking them when we found we could no longer change humans to Darkyn. Kyryas are usually immune to l'attrait. I cannot remember the last time a Kyn lord took one outside the ranks of the tresori. In these times, we trust only those sworn to serve us." Michael filed the information away and smiled at Alex. "There, chérie. You have just had a short history lesson on the Darkyn."

"Perhaps you could get to the reason for coming into my territory," Lucan said.

Michael told him about the situation with the Pavieres, and of Faryl's escape from New Orleans. "The family believes he comes to you for a merciful dispatching."

Lucan nodded. "Likely it is so. I have had no contact from Faryl, however. His brother is not with you tonight."

"Gard is out in the night, hunting him," Michael said. "Your seneschal was informed, and granted him safe passage."

"I am delighted my decisions are being made for me." Lucan gave Rafael a brief look before addressing Alexandra. "Why do you come here, Doctor? To keep your lord entertained, or do you wish to see a changeling put out of its misery?"

Alex looked bewildered. "A changeling?"

"I refer to Paviere's brother Faryl. His condition is irreversible." Lucan's mouth curved on one side. "I see. Our new seigneur hasn't told you all of it."

Michael stood. "We will take our leave now."

"Don't run away just yet." The big man also rose. "I'm so disappointed in you, Michael. You create the perfect mate for yourself, after centuries of the rest of us failing to do the same, and yet you are actively deceiving her. I wonder if we should consider a form of divorce for our kind. I think you may be in need of one soon, Alexandra."

She looked at him and then at Lucan and back to him. "Michael told me about Faryl feeding on animals, if that's what you're hinting. I get the whole fleshrot thing."

Lucan laughed. "Faryl, my dear doctor, is not rotting. He's molting."

"That's enough, Lucan." Michael helped Alexandra out of her chair. "We're leaving."

"You're leaving." She dragged her arm out of his grip. "I'm going to hear the rest of this. Lucan, what do you mean by molting?"

"Exactly that," he told her. "His body is changing from human into something else. It is a process that involves many such moltings until he attains his final form. Our high lord endures the same trials, as Michael will tell you."

He should have hunted him down and killed him in New Orleans. "Richard's condition is not the same as Faryl's, nor is it something we discuss."

"What is Faryl molting into?" Alex demanded.

"What he will become. You have heard the saying, 'You are what you eat'?" Lucan gestured to her. "You drink human blood, so you remain in human form. But if you drink animal blood, and you feed only on that long enough, you shed your humanity like the skin of a snake. You become whatever you feed upon."

Alex's eyes were huge. "You're telling me that Faryl is mutating into another animal species? Like an alligator or a rat or something?"

"A two-legged version of whatever he has been feeding on, yes. You might make yourself into a magnificent leopard woman. You would only have to go to Africa and feed on them for a century or two." The suzerain reached out to touch one of the curls on her shoulder. "Then the process begins with—"

Michael threw his fist into Lucan's face, and with deep satisfaction felt it connect with the bigger man's jaw.

"Don't touch her," he snarled as the suzerain staggered back. "Don't ever touch her again."

All around them daggers and swords appeared as the men began taking defensive positions.

"Do you fear she will prefer mine to yours?" Lucan asked, his voice silky.

Michael took pleasure in striking back, this time with the truth. "At least my touch will not kill her."

Rafael and Phillipe took up their positions as second to their respective lords.

"Master, I think it would be wise to conclude this meeting now," Lucan's seneschal said. "Before any blood is spilled."

Phillipe put Alexandra behind him. "I agree, master."

"It appears that despite our best efforts, our people will not permit us our squabble," Lucan said. "If you require anything while you are in my territory, seigneur, you have but to contact Rafael."

Michael was so angry he could not manage even the thinnest of polite farewells, and turned to go.

"If you are in need, Alexandra," the suzerain called after them, "do come to me."

Sam was happy to get away from Lucan.

As she had left the club, she saw the prostitutes were finally earning their keep by mingling with a lot of tall, handsome men in beautiful suits and one short brunette woman wearing a gorgeous ivory silk dress. The odd thing was that while the hookers were drinking and chatting and laughing, the men were simply standing around in a loose circle around the woman and one tall man with white-streaked black hair in a ponytail.

Shrewd brown eyes met Sam's, and the woman smiled. Sam nodded before she stalked outside.

The unit wasn't in the alley behind the nightclub, and for a moment Sam felt like screaming. But Harry had been having a bad attack; maybe he'd gone over to Emergency. As Sam walked out of the alley and onto the street, she dialed her partner's cell phone and waited for him to answer.

"Hello?" a muffled male voice answered.

Sam knew it wasn't Harry. "I'm calling for Detective Quinn. Who is this?"

"He can't come to the phone right now. He's waiting for you in the park by the fire station."

"Who is this?" Sam demanded again.