An instinct I didn’t understand made me approach him and, to our mutual surprise, give him a hug. “It’ll be all right,” I said.

I felt ridiculous speaking words of comfort to Adam. I felt even more ridiculous hugging him. I don’t want to know what shade of red my face turned, and I released him so fast I’m sure it would have looked comical to the outside observer. I didn’t have the nerve to look at him, and I told myself that if he laughed, I was going to deck him and damn the consequences. But he didn’t laugh.

“Thank you,” he said softly, but I still didn’t have the courage to face him. He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder, his own unpracticed gesture of support.

My face was still burning, my eyes still fixed on the floor, when I heard the door close behind him.

Apparently, even in the midst of his inner turmoil, Adam was an effective investigator. He learned that the two goons had gotten in by convincing Mrs. Schwartz, one of my building’s ubiquitous LOLs, that they were insurance agents. She’d met them at the coffee shop around the corner, and they’d followed her into the building like little ducklings. Mrs. Schwartz had then spent a half hour discussing her insurance needs with the two “charming” young men. They’d left her apartment at around five in the afternoon, which meant they’d been loitering around the building for hours before their quarry—me—had finally shown up. The security personnel were much more interested in who was coming in the building, rather than who was going out, so no one noticed that the goons had remained far longer than insurance agents would have.

They hadn’t been wearing the dark glasses when Mrs. Schwartz had brought them into the building, but once she vouched for them, neither the doorman nor the front desk clerk paid any attention to them. They barely even remembered seeing them, and certainly couldn’t give a reliable description. Mrs. Schwartz couldn’t either, on account of her cataracts. There was footage from the security camera in the elevator, but the goons must have been aware of it, for they were careful not to show their faces.

Adam had informed me of these meager details by phone on his way home to Dom. He’d then made a point of telling me he’d call me tomorrow, which meant I’d be spending the rest of the night sweating the results of their conversation.

I thought I’d have a lot of trouble falling asleep that night. I was wrong. I suppose sometimes pain and stress can make you toss and turn all night, and sometimes it can just exhaust you until you can’t keep your eyes open.

I doubt I got more than a couple of minutes of blissful, uninterrupted sleep before I “awoke” to find myself in Lugh’s throne room. I was seated on a short, hard chair at the base of the dais, looking up at Lugh on his throne. I guessed that meant I was supposed to be some kind of supplicant, but I doubt he was surprised that I rejected the role.

I stood up and mounted the stairs to the dais. It was easier this time than last, since he hadn’t bothered to dress me in period costume.

He was dressed once more in crimson velvet with gold accents, though I don’t think it was exactly the same outfit, just a similar one. Naturally, he looked good enough to eat, even if the throne and crown were just a tad off-putting. He sat ramrod straight, his gorgeous, chiseled face set in an expression I couldn’t read. I didn’t think he was happy. But then, neither was I.

“You rang?” I asked when the silence seemed to stretch.

“You’re angry with me.”

I shrugged. Of course I was angry with him. He’d forced me into this lame-ass “compromise” of his. I don’t take well to being forced into anything. But he knew all that, so I didn’t bother to say it.

“And you’re angry with me,” I said instead. “I suppose that makes us even.” I frowned. “Well, as even as we’ll ever be.”

He shook his head. No doubt he was wishing Raphael had chosen anyone else on the planet to host him.

“I won’t explain myself to you again,” he said, and there was a distinctly sharp edge to his voice.

“Ditto.”

He reached up, I think meaning to run his hand through his hair in frustration. At the last moment, he remembered the crown and stopped himself.

“As I’m sure you know,” I continued, “I’m really, really tired. Is there some vital reason we absolutely have to talk tonight? Because if not, I’d rather get some sleep.”

He seemed to think about that one for a while before he answered. “Actually, it’s not you I need to talk to. It’s Raphael.”

I let out a sound that I’m afraid was something like a squeak of alarm as I realized what he meant. I then put as much concentration as I could into trying to close my mental doors.

“Relax, Morgan,” Lugh said in what was probably supposed to be a soothing croon, but I think both our tempers were too brittle for soothing or being soothed. “I’d like us to work together to make this happen. You see, I’ve had an idea as to how we can ease your way into letting me take control when necessary.”

I probably shouldn’t have let him disarm me so easily. Maybe my exhaustion was affecting my mental processes in my sleep as well as during my waking hours. But whatever the reason, I stopped trying to struggle free of him. I didn’t, however, drop my guard.

“All right. I’m listening. Let’s hear this idea of yours.”

He rose slowly from his throne, towering over me. He always towered over me, but those red velvet shoes of his had a considerable heel on them, and I felt like I was straining my neck to meet his gaze. Instinct urged me to take a step back from this dangerous creature, but I fought it. Sure, he already knew he was intimidating me, but that didn’t mean I had to show it.

“I’d like to try staying in control while you wake up,” he said. “Through sleep, you’ve already dropped your guard enough to let me take over. Getting you to drop that guard is the key, so perhaps if you try not to fight me, we’ll be able to make that transition to wakefulness together.”

I realized with a bit of a shock that when Lugh had first started communicating with me, my subconscious had consistently managed to kick him out without any effort on my part. Now, unless I made a concerted effort to fight my way free, he could remain in control of my sleep for however long he wanted. I couldn’t help thinking that wasn’t a good thing, that I was slowly giving him more and more power over me. And I decided I didn’t want to wake up and find myself the passenger in my own body.

I started trying once more to close my mental doors.

“Don’t!” Lugh ordered sharply, and the look on his face now was pure steel. “We need to do this, and what you want doesn’t really matter. If you keep fighting me, you’ll find yourself in the oubliette.”

I gasped in shock, the sick sense of horror and betrayal in my gut momentarily derailing my efforts to wrest control from him.

“You promised you would never do that again!” I said, though the sound came out more like a wail.

Lugh’s face remained grim. “And you promised you’d learn to let me take control when the situation warrants it. Keep your promise, and I’ll keep mine. It’s as simple as that.”

At that moment, I think I actually hated him. Not so long ago, I’d liked him, started thinking of him almost as a friend. A very sexy friend, whom I had the reluctant hots for. What had happened to that Lugh, who’d been kind and gentle, and who’d seemed to care about me?

I didn’t say any of that out loud, but Lugh answered me anyway.

“Nothing has changed, Morgan,” he said in a much softer voice. “And I do care about you. More than you know. It’s just. .” He blew out a sigh, and the throne room dissolved around us.

I felt a moment of intense disorientation. When it passed, we were no longer in the intimidating throne room. Instead, we were back in the cozy living room where we’d often talked before. And Lugh was back to what I thought of as his usual self. Gone were the crown and the red and gold velvet, and back were the tight black leather pants tucked into knee-high black boots and the plain black T-shirt that clung so appealingly to the muscles of his chest.