I snatched my hand back before I was tempted to use it to drag him over the table. "Cut it out!”

He blinked in surprise and reached for me again. This time, the warm feeling was stronger when we touched, sending a frisson of heat dancing across my skin. I had a sudden image of sultry Spanish nights, the scent of jasmine, and warm, golden skin sliding against mine. I closed my eyes, swallowing hard, trying to reject the sensations, but that only seemed to help them become more real. Someone pushed me back against a thick feather mattress, practically burying me in its plump folds, and I could actually feel the soft weave of the sheets under my hands. A fall of silken hair spilled all around me and strong hands skimmed down my sides, a teasing touch that barely registered but flooded my veins with heat.

Then, with no warning, the sensation changed, going from seductive warmth to scorching heat. For a moment, I thought Casanova's touch would actually burn me, but he released my hand before it edged over into real pain. I opened my eyes to find us still sitting in the bar; the only signs that anything had happened were my flushed face and pounding pulse.

Casanova sighed and sat back in his seat. "Whoever did the geis knew what he was doing," he told me, signaling for a refill. "Out of curiosity, who was it? I would have said there were none I couldn't break.”

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I rubbed my hand where it felt like he'd left an imprint of his fingers behind, and glared at him. I didn't appreciate the attempted distraction-I was not his afternoon snack-nor whatever had ended it so painfully.

"The geis. I didn't know anyone had a prior claim or I wouldn't-”

"What's a gesh?" He spelled it for me, which didn't help. A waiter brought us both new drinks and I gulped some of mine, my mood blackening by the second.

"Don't play games, Cassie; you know what I am. Did you think I wouldn't see it?" he asked impatiently; then something in my expression made his eyes widen. "You really don't know, do you?”

I stared at him resentfully. More complications; just what I needed right now. "Either make some sense or-”

"Someone, a powerful magic user or a master vampire, has put a claim on you," he said patiently, then corrected himself. "No, not a claim. More like an immense keep off sign a mile high.”

I sat there, feeling a new wave of heat creep up my neck. I remembered a cultured, amused voice telling me that I belonged to him, always had and always would. I was going to kill him.

"What does that mean, exactly?”

"A geis is a magical bond, usually involving a taboo or prohibition over personal behavior." He saw my confusion. "Do you remember the story of Melusine?”

A childhood memory surfaced, but it was vague. "A fairy tale; French, I think. She was some half fairy who turned into a dragon, right?”

Casanova sighed, shaking his head at my ignorance. "Melusine was a beautiful woman six days of the week, but was cursed to appear as a half serpent on the seventh. She married Raymond of Lusignan after he agreed to a geis prohibiting him from ever seeing her on Saturday, even though she refused to say why. They had many happy years together until one of his cousins convinced Raymond that Saturday was the day she spent with her lover, and he spied on her to find out the truth. That broke the geis, causing Melusine to become a dragon permanently and losing Raymond the love of his life.”

"You're telling me that story was real?”

"I have no idea. The point is, that's how a geis operates." His hand hovered over mine, but he didn't attempt to touch me again. "This one is the strongest I've ever felt, and it's been in place for some time now. It has a good grip.”

"Define 'some time.'“

"Years," he said, concentrating. "At least a decade, maybe more. And a decade isn't a simple matter of ten years. For purposes of the spell, it's measured as a percentage of your life span. You're what, early twenties?”

"I'll be twenty-four tomorrow.”

He shrugged. "Well, there you have it. For roughly half your life, someone has owned you.”

A new rush of blood flooded my face. I remembered a cultured, amused voice telling me that I belonged to him, always had and always would. I was going to kill him. "No one owns me," I said shortly, but Casanova didn't look impressed. "What does this geis do, other than to warn people off?”

I soon wished I hadn't asked. "The dúthracht geis is a strong magical connection-one of the strongest. During the Middle Ages, paranoid mages with nonmagical wives employed it as a variation on a chastity belt. I've also heard of it being used in arranged marriages, to smooth out initial awkwardness.”

He concentrated for a moment before continuing. "As far as I can determine, it allows whoever put it in place to know your emotions-your true ones, not whatever you're trying to project-so you can't lie to him. It also gives him a rough idea of where you are at any given time. He may not know your exact location, but he'll certainly be able to narrow it down to a city, and possibly further.”

I remembered the arrogant jerk who I strongly suspected was behind this telling me that he had been able to find me once because he'd had help from the Senate's intelligence network. Maybe he had, but it seemed there had been more to it. I wondered how many other times he'd told me only part of the truth.

"And, last but not least, it heightens the attraction between you, with each meeting becoming more intense. Eventually, you won't want to run.”

I felt myself go cold. "Then nothing I feel is real." I couldn't believe he'd stooped that low. He knew damned well how I felt about having my thoughts or feelings altered.

The jerk in question was Mircea, a five-hundred-year-old vampire whose biggest claim to fame was being Dracula's older brother. He'd also been my first crush. I hadn't cared about his family name, or that he was a first-level master and a Senate member. I'd been far more interested in the way his rich brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, in the mahogany hair that spilled over his broad shoulders and in that wickedly perfect mouth, still the most sensual I've ever seen. Among his other titles, Mircea was also the vamp Tony called Master. It was something that should have made me question the sincerity in that handsome face a lot sooner.

"The dúthracht doesn't create emotions," Casanova corrected me. "It isn't a love spell. It can only enhance what is already there. Which is why it's odd that anyone would have used it on you at what, age eleven, twelve?”

I nodded numbly, but the truth was that I didn't find it odd at all. My mother had been heir to the Pythia's throne before she eloped with my father. The fact that she'd been disinherited meant nothing as far as my chances for succeeding were concerned, however, because it isn't the old Pythia who chooses the new one. The final selection is made by the power of the office itself. In all but a handful of instances over thousands of years, it has selected the designated heir, the one groomed as a successor by the old Pythia. But Mircea had gambled that I would be one of the exceptions and had spared no effort to ensure that I'd still be eligible when the moment arrived.

For reasons I didn't fully understand, the heir has to remain chaste until the changeover ritual begins, and Mircea hadn't wanted to risk a teenage infatuation removing me from contention. So he'd marked me as off-limits by putting a claim on me himself. Bastard.

"You said it boosts emotion," I said, thinking about the first time I encountered Mircea as an adult. "Are you only talking about mine?" Mircea hadn't appeared exactly uninterested when I saw him last, but it was difficult to be certain. Most vamps are excellent liars, but he is the undisputed, number one champ, possibly because it's his job. He's the Senate's chief diplomat, the guy sent into tricky situations to get whatever they want through persuasion, seduction or deceit. He's very good at what he does.