Once she was within his own control, and he had ensured her return to her grandmother, then the slate would be clean.

Wrong. So damned wrong—and from her own emotional pain, he did not know how to rescue her.

“Marisol…” The tone in his voice was one that he had never heard before. Then again, begging was not his practice. “Marisol, please.”

When her lids finally lifted, he found himself taking a deep breath. With them down, her stillness reminded him too much of the other outcome that could have been wrought.

What to say to her, though? “Verily, I can’t pretend to understand this concept of sin that you uphold, but then your religion is different than mine—and I respect that.” God, he hated that bruise on the side of her face for so many reasons. “But, Marisol, the actions you took were in the name of survival. Your survival. What you did back there is the reason you have breath within your lungs the now. Life is about doing what is necessary, and you did.”

She turned away as if the pain was too great. And then she whispered, “I just wish I could have … hell, maybe you’re right. I have to go back way too far with an eraser to get me out of where I was two nights ago. This whole thing is the culmination of so much.”

“You know, if you so choose, you could change your course. You could stop having anything to do with the likes of Benloise.”

A ghostly smile touched her lips as she stared at the door. “Yes. I agree.”

He took another deep breath. “There is another way for you.”

Even though she just nodded, he had the sense she had made peace with her retirement, as it were. And for some reason, that made him want to tear up—not that he would have admitted it to anybody, including her good self.

As she grew quiet, he stared at her, memorizing everything from her wavy, dark hair that had been thoroughly shampooed when she’d showered in her bathroom here, to her pale cheeks, to her perfectly formed lips.

Thinking of everything she had been through, he heard her say that she hadn’t been raped—but only because she’d killed the bastard first.

The one in the cell, he thought. The one whose hand she’d used to get herself out of that facility.

His whole body ached for her, it truly did—

“I can feel you staring at me,” she said softly.

Assail sat back and rubbed his thighs. “Forgive me.” Glancing across the room, he hated the idea of using the door even though he probably should let her rest. “Are you in physical pain?”

Marisol turned her head back to him, her mahogany eyes searching his. “Where are we?”

“How about you answer my question first?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Shall I get the nurse?”

He was in the process of rising to his feet when she put her hand out and stopped him. “No, please. I don’t like the way that stuff makes me feel. Right now, I need to be one hundred percent connected to this reality. Otherwise, I think I’m back … there.”

Assail eased down once more and really, truly wanted to go up north and kill Benloise outright. He quelled the impulse by reminding himself of the suffering the man was enjoying—assuming his heart was still beating.

“So where are we?”

How to answer that?

Well, as much as reality distortion was something she wished to avoid, it was not going to be with the fact that he was not human, but in fact, a member of a species she associated with Dracula. Thank you ever so much, Stoker.

“We are among friends.” Mayhap that went a little far. But Rehv had provided what had been asked when it was needed—likely in response to the person Assail had “processed” if not directly on behalf of the King, then certainly and undeniably to his benefit.

“You’ve got some pretty fancy friends. Do you work for the government?”

He laughed. “Dear Lord, no.”

“That’s a relief. I was wondering if you were going to arrest me or try to get me to turn informant.”

“I can assure you, the ins and outs of the human law system are of no concern to me whatsoever.”

“Human …?”

Cursing under his breath, he waved away the word. “You know what I mean.”

As she smiled, her lids fluttered. “I’m sorry, I think I’m drifting off. All that food.”

“Let yourself go. And know that when you wake, I shall take you home.”

She jerked upright. “My grandmother is still in that house—”

“No, she is at my estate. I would never have left her where she was, exposed and vulnerable—”

Without any warning, Marisol put her arms around him, throwing them over his shoulders and holding on so hard, he felt every shudder of her body.

“Thank you,” she choked out against his neck. “Without her, I have nothing.”

Assail was so very careful as he returned the embrace, resting his hands lightly upon her back. Breathing in her scent, his heart ached anew that any male had touched her other than with reverence.

They stayed that way a long time. And when she finally eased back and looked up at him, he couldn’t stop himself from brushing her face with his fingers.

“I am without words,” he said in a cracked voice.

“About what?”

All he could do was shake his head and break the contact entirely by standing up. It was either that or he was going to get into that bed with her.

“Rest well,” he said roughly. “At nightfall, I shall escort you safely unto your relation.”

And then she and her grandmother could live with him. And that way he would know she would always be safe.

He would never worry over her again.

Assail hurried out before her eyes shut. He simply couldn’t bear that image of her closed lids.

Stepping free of the room, he—

Stopped dead.

Across the corridor, his twin cousins were leaning against the wall, and they didn’t have to look up or around at him. They were staring right into his eyes as he emerged—sure as if they had been waiting for him to come back out every second he’d been in there.

They didn’t speak, but they didn’t have to.

Assail rubbed his face. In what world did he think he could keep two human women in his house? And fuck forever—he wasn’t going to be able to do that for a night. Because what would he say when it became apparent he couldn’t go out during the day? Or have sunlight in his home? Or …

Overcome with emotion, he dug into the front pocket of his black slacks, took out his vial of coke and quickly dispensed of what was left.

Just so he could feel even slightly normal.

Then he picked the tray up off the floor. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered as he stalked away.

“Wrath!”

As she called out her husband’s name, Beth jerked upright off the pillows, and for a moment, she had no idea where she was. The stone walls and the rich velvet bedding were not—

Darius’s house. The chamber that was not her father’s, but the one Wrath had used when he’d needed someplace to crash. The one she’d moved over to when she couldn’t sleep.

She must have finally passed out on top of the duvet—

Distantly, a phone started ringing.

Shoving her hair out of her face, she found a blanket over her legs that she didn’t remember putting there … her suitcase just inside the door … and a silver tray set on the bedside table.

Fritz. The butler must have come sometime during the day.

Rubbing her sternum, she looked at the empty pillow next to her, the undisturbed sheets, the lack of Wrath—and felt worse than she had the night before.

To think she’d assumed they’d hit bottom. Or that space would help—

“Crap, Wrath?” she called out as she jumped off the bed.

Running to the door, she ripped it open, shot across the shallow hall, and careened into her father’s chamber, diving for the phone on one of the side tables.

“Hello! Hello? Hello …?”

“Hi.”