Chaos. There was something really, really petty about the satisfaction I felt, but I couldn't really regret it.

Ashworth's cane caught me once more in the back of the head, and everything went vague and smeared. Someone was speaking to me, whispering on the aetheric. But sound didn't travel on the aetheric, did it? No, it wasn't speech, it was… something else. Vibration. Light. Power. Connections.

Don't fight, Jo. Let go.

I knew him. Knew the voice, or the frequency, or the tenor of his power. Knew the whispering colors of his aura as he wrapped me in his arms.

Please, Jo. Please let go.

It wasn't Quinn. There was somebody else there, somebody else lifting me and carrying me away. I felt safe and dreamily peaceful.

I felt whole.

I opened my eyes and saw David's beautiful, intense face, those dark brown eyes flaring bright copper as they stared down at me.

"Can't leave you alone for a minute," he said, and his lips curved into a smile. "Love the dress."

The wind stopped. The electricity stopped arcing.

Everything stopped.

Including me, as darkness sucked me down.

I knew it was a dream, because obviously David couldn't be here. Dream or not, I was more than happy enough to hold on to it; I woke up cradled in warm arms, against a firmly muscled male chest, and smiled and cuddled closer and refused to open my eyes and find out that I'd imagined the whole thing.

I felt a hand smooth my hair, then touch my cheek and glide gently along my jawline.

"You're awake," he said.

No, clearly I wasn't, because that was David's voice, wasn't it? Warm and intimate as his touch, which was waking fire all over my body. I was limp and relaxed and utterly, completely dreaming.

And then his hand touched a bruise, which set off a red flash of complaint, and I realized that I wasn't dreaming at all. Not even I dreamed of having bruises. Now that I let myself drift back into the real world, I had a monster headache, pinpoints of sharp, glasslike pain all over my body, and a general feeling of having been run through the wood chipper headfirst.

I opened my eyes and looked up.

Warm copper eyes looked back, half-concealed behind round glasses.

David was seated on the bed, back braced against the wall, with me lying in his arms. I reached out to touch him. The crisp rasp of his cotton shirt felt real. So did the heat of his skin underneath.

His smile vanished as he looked down at me, replaced by a look of concern. "Jo?"

I blinked. There were two of him, both staring at me. I tried to touch one of them and jammed my fingers into the wall. "Ow."

"Dammit." He had large, sensitive hands, and one of them explored the back of my head and found that extremely sore spot, which was about the size of an egg. The words that followed weren't in English, but the venom in them left no doubt as to their meaning. David was angry. They weren't going to like him when he was angry.

"What happened?" I asked blurrily, and let myself curl up back against him. Because if it was a dream, I'd take it over my present reality any day. "Shouldn't be here."

"No, you shouldn't," he agreed grimly.

I tried again. "You shouldn't be here."

"Oh." He stroked hair gently back from my face. "Long story."

"Can't sleep." That was a bit of a lie; my eyelids were heavy, my body drugged by his warmth. The only escape from the crushing throb of the ache in my head was sleep, and I was starting to like the idea. "Tell me. I left you with Marion…"

He kissed my forehead, and I felt the trace of a smile in it. "Once upon a time there was a Djinn…"

"Not kidding."

"I didn't think you were."

And I remembered something, something that made me sit up too fast and grab my aching head in both hands to steady it. I glared at him through a curtain of disarranged-and curling, dammit-hair. "You! You… you…"

He watched me with a little line grooved between his eyebrows. It was a concerned look, not a guilty one. I managed to roll off of him to my hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the bed. He sat up, following, hands outstretched. I admit, I was none too steady.

"You!" I repeated, and swallowed a mouthful of nausea at the way the world insisted on bobbing up and down. "You bastard! I know what you did!"

That little line cut deeper. "What exactly did I do?"

"You and Lewis… cooked this up. The night you left me at the hotel." It came to me like a blinding burst. "You knew Jonathan wouldn't let us in. You let them separate us."

He had the grace to look a little guilty. The worry line didn't disappear. "Jo, settle down. You've got a head injury."

"Head injury?! You knocked me up!" The self-righteous fury of it drove me off the bed to my feet. I swayed there, hands on my hips, trying to focus on the two of him. "Well? Nothing to say?"

"Sit down."

"Screw you! I'm pregnant!"

"Sit down before you-" He lunged. I didn't realize I was falling until I was in his arms, hovering a few inches above the floor-"fall down."

"Sorry," I mumbled. Tears stung hot in my eyes. "No, not. You 'pologize first."

The world bobbled again, and I closed my eyes to stop it. Felt myself lifted and settled back on the soft bed, covers pulled over me in a warm, rustling embrace. David's hand cupped my cheek with warmth, and I opened my eyes again to see him bent over me, close enough to kiss. His lips were parted, as if he were on the verge of saying something, but then he just closed the distance and those lips touched mine. It melted me into gold, and even though my head felt like it had used as the soccer ball in the World Cup I couldn't help but respond by kissing him back. Hungrily.

"I had to protect you. I love you," he whispered into my open mouth. "I'm watching over you. Now sleep."

As if the kiss were opium, I did.

I woke up to stillness and a cold bed. The headache was at half-mast, and the bruises had faded to dull aches. No sign of David, but someone had left the hotel television playing silently on the hotel informational channel. Apparently, the PR spin was that there was a freak windstorm that had blown into the lobby through a jammed set of doors, and some shorts had erupted in the electrical system before circuit breakers kicked in. The message told me that everything had returned to normal and there was nothing to worry about.

The human race had a vast, apparently endless capacity for rationalization. It had always served the Wardens exceptionally well.

I tried to get up and winced at a sharp stab of pain in my shoulder.

"Easy," said a slightly rough male tenor voice somewhere to my right, against the gaudy glare of sunset. "Hairline fracture of the collarbone, not to mention one heck of a whack to the head."

Quinn was back. I started to ask about David, but something made me hesitate. It was still possible I'd dreamed the whole thing, that Quinn had been the one to catch me down in the lobby and carry me back up here. And I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of mooning around over my lost Djinn lover.

I felt the weight of Quinn's body settle next to me on the bed. When I looked, he was leaning over me, staring down. He reached over and lifted my head, then probed the lump at the back with sure and impersonal fingers. I winced. "Oh, don't whine; you're going to live. And it isn't like you didn't ask for it."

"I just wanted out."

"And we put you out. Follow my finger." He moved it around, tracking my eye movements. "Any blurred vision?"

"Well, I think I'm hallucinating, because I see a big talking pile of crap."

"Funny. You're a riot, sweetheart." He sat back and lowered his eyelids to an assessing sleepy look. "Who's David?"