“Possibly,” Azazel said slowly. “At the very least he would become sick, run a fever, possibly throw up. We can’t tell with Tamlel or Gadrael because their bodies were already compromised by the wounds they had received.”

“Then we need a volunteer,” I said brightly. “It’s the only way we can be certain.”

Raziel rose, pushing back his chair, but Azazel fixed him with a look. “You know it can’t be you. If she’s your bonded mate, you’d be able to drink from her and you know it. I assume you haven’t done so as yet.”

“None of your damned business,” Raziel snapped.

“It’s all of our business,” the leader replied. “Sammael, you may try.”

Sammael was sitting near me, and I immediately held out my arm, more curious about Raziel’s reaction than anything else. I could feel the tension and rage washing over him, a mindless, animal response. He hadn’t resumed his seat; he was just standing there, vibrating with something I wasn’t sure I wanted to interpret.

Sammael didn’t look any too happy about the idea, but he took hold of my arm as if it were an ear of corn, and his incisors elongated. I watched with fascination, wondering what set off that reaction. Was it blood flow, like an erection? Did old vampires have trouble getting it up, or down, or whatever?

Sammael set his mouth against my wrist, and I felt the twin pinpricks, just a quick, sharp pain. And then nothing at all as he fed at my wrist.

“Enough!” Raziel snapped, and Sammael pulled his mouth away quickly. “She has already lost too much blood from Tamlel’s carelessness.”

Azazel was focusing on Sammael. “Well? Are you feeling ill?”

Slowly Sammael shook his head. “She is the Source,” he said quietly.

“Shit.” Raziel’s muttered expletive expressed it for all of them, me included.

Dead silence. I considered whining, “But I don’t want to be the Source,” then thought better of it. I kept quiet, letting it sink in.

After a moment Azazel spoke, and his low, angry voice was defeated. “Very well. As blood-eaters we know that blood doesn’t lie. You’ll have to discover who your mate truly is—”

“She’s mine,” Raziel said fiercely, throwing himself back down into his chair. “No one else’s.”

“Well, we’ll leave you time to discover whether that, indeed, is true. In the meantime, the woman will have to be instructed in the duties of the Source, the proper diet and training, and she—”

“Hell, no,” I said. I’d had enough of this patriarchal crap.

Once more the silence was deafening. “What did you say?” Azazel demanded dangerously.

“I said hell, no. If you think I’m going to be Raziel’s sex slave and your personal blood bank, you have another thing coming. This is your problem—figure it out yourself.”

My magnificent exit was marred slightly when the flowing sleeve of my tunic caught on the door handle, but I yanked it free as dramatically as I could and strode from the room.

Once out of sight, I wanted to pump my fist in triumph. Assholes, all of them. I wasn’t about to let anyone push me around, particularly not Azazel and Raziel. They could find someone else to be their goddamn Source, preferably someone more like Sarah, with her serene smile and calm nature.

At the thought of her I wanted to cry, but I dashed the tears away. I needed fresh air and the smell of the ocean to clear my head of all that testosterone. If any of them made the mistake of trying to follow me, I would simply head over to the fire and grab a burning branch or something. I could even build a ring of fire around me if I felt the need. It would serve them right and probably make them crazy with frustration. I found I could manage a sour grin.

As I moved out into the sunlight I felt someone behind me, someone tall, and I knew who it was. I turned, ready to lash out at him.

Raziel looked as furious as I felt, which only made things escalate. “What’s your problem?” I demanded hotly. “It’s not like they’re expecting you to be a cross between a whore and a bloodmobile. If you think I’m going to sit quietly by while men suck at my wrist, you’re dead wrong. If you’ll pardon the expression.”

“I don’t think that.” His low voice was surprising.

“You don’t?”

“No one is touching you but me,” he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SHE WAS LOOKING SHELL-SHOCKED, and I couldn’t blame her. She’d witnessed the kind of carnage unthinkable for someone of her world, she’d watched people she cared about die, she’d lost too much blood because of Tamlel’s carelessness, and to complete the disaster, the worst possible scenario had come to pass. She wasn’t just bound to me—she was bound to all of us.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t had plenty of warning. I had simply refused to recognize it. She was reading me, more and more. I had a will of iron, yet I hadn’t been able to keep away from her. I had known, deep in my heart, and I could deny it no longer. She was my bonded mate. I would watch her grow old and die, and just to twist the knife further, I would have to watch the others feed from her narrow, blue-veined wrist, and there wouldn’t be a thing I could do about it, even as my atavistic blood roared in response.

And I had hurt her. When I’d returned from sealing the wall, I’d found her down by the edge of the water, sitting back on her knees, Tamlel’s head in her lap while he drank from her. She was pale and dizzy from blood loss, and rage had swept over me, a killing rage that had only just abated. I’d ripped her away from Tamlel, too blind with jealous fury to realize what I was doing.

I’m not sure what I would have done to Tamlel if I hadn’t heard her quiet moan. I spun around in the blood-soaked sand to see her lying against a rock, and guilt and panic swept away the rage. The healers were too busy with the dying to help her—all I could do was bring her back to my rooms and tend to her as best I could, washing the blood and gore from her, letting my hands soothe and heal her. We all had healing power, some more than others, and it was always stronger with our mates. I should have known, when I’d held her hands and healed them, that she was mine.

I had known. I had just refused to face it.

I still didn’t want to. Uriel must have known she was my mate. Her sins were too slight to deserve either an escort or a sentence to the flames. Uriel had assumed I would follow orders and throw her over the precipice, denying the Fallen their next Source. So that when his traitor let the Nephilim in, there’d be no one for the survivors.

I didn’t know how much she was reading from me. We were too new—her sense of me would deepen, and then the natural boundaries would develop.