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Faeries were rare. When they’d run into the other woman, Dove had been positively beside herself. Whereas Dove specialized in communing with spirits, Alexandra could sense and manipulate emotions.

Vivian explained, “Long before Liam claimed Alexandra as his Chosen, he appointed himself as her protector. When she was captured and placed in a black-market auction to be sold as a blood slave, Liam came to me, seeking my help.”

Dove glanced at the window, then back. “It’s hard to imagine a man like that humbling himself enough to ask for help. What did you do?”

“Since Liam didn’t have the credentials needed to get inside the prestigious auction house, I agreed to purchase Alexandra for him, ensuring a minimal amount of blood was shed during her rescue. Liam was so desperate to get her back he promised to give me anything I wanted in return.” She hitched a shoulder, admitting, “It was just too delicious to pass up.”

Dove snorted, flicking her eyes to the ceiling. “Seems to me he doesn’t know you very well if he believed he needed to pay for your help.”

True. She’d have done it for free. “I’d like to believe his opinion of me isn’t so low it didn’t cross his mind. Still, the only thing bigger than Liam’s biceps is his pride. It would have killed him to think the balance between us had been tipped in my favor. He’d never ask for a favor, giving nothing in return.”

Mischief glinted in Armond’s eyes. “Do tell our dearest Dove the exact nature of the debt Liam owes you.”

Vivian arched a brow, accepting the challenge. “He promised me two weeks of his complete submission.”

Dove pressed her hand to her mouth. “Shut up. You did not.”

“Poor dear.” Vivian sipped from her drink. “I’m quite certain he believes he’s coming here to screw my brains out for the next two weeks.”

Armond burst into laughter, his martini sloshing precariously in his glass. “You’re right. This is far more entertaining than watching a bunch of stuffy military types attempt to order you around.”

Three firm knocks sounded at the door.

Gilbert materialized from the shadows, shuffling into the room. As usual, he was impeccably dressed in a pair of gray slacks with a matching vest and a black tailcoat. “Shall I admit your guest, Mistress?”

With his appearance, the flames in the fireplace flared, casting strange shapes on the wall. Before fading, it appeared a large hand reached to caress the top of his silver head. The sight of those shadowed fingers danced goosebumps down Vivian’s arms. These hair-raising occurrences weren’t uncommon when Gilbert was around. It wasn’t until Dove became her Chosen that she understood why. While she valued Dove’s gift, Vivian preferred not to think about the spiritual realm. Dove, bless her, understood Vivian’s desire to pretend these things didn’t occur in her home.

Vivian shook away the sense of unease and tapped her chin. “Strange, but the guard at the front door should have called before admitting him.”

“You fired the guard, remember?” Armond said, tone dry.

Her lips curled. “That’s right.” And it was quite satisfying. “Please, invite him in, Gilbert.”

At her request, the butler straightened his coat, puffed out his chest, and swung the door open.

Framed in the dull porch light was a hulking silhouette. Darkness cast the menacing figure’s visage in shadows. Thick legs braced, the man stood as though he captained a ship through a turbulent storm. From one massive shoulder hung a large duffle bag. Over the other rested a macabre lump swathed in a familiar uniform.

Their visitor heaved his mysterious burden into the foyer, where it hit with an ominous thud. The unconscious guard exhaled a low groan.

Dove uttered a muted scream, and Armond spit his gulp of martini onto the oriental rug. Before Vivian could check her reaction, she lurched from the settee, hand clutched to her chest.

Indifferent to the chaos he’d caused, Liam stepped over the obstacle, pausing before the befuddled butler. “Sorry about your man there. Guy said I wasn’t on the list. I convinced him otherwise.”

Vivian struggled to regain her composure, clenching her fists. Liam most certainly was on the list. He’d taken out a member of her newly hired guard just to be an ass.

Gilbert, who was slower to collect himself, glanced from the unconscious man to his mistress, seeking instruction.

She smoothed the front of her dress. “Gilbert, my darling, will you please remove Mr. Williams from the foyer? I’d rather not have anyone stumbling over his body.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Quick to recover his poise, Gilbert grabbed the man’s feet and dragged him toward the kitchen.

Liam met her eyes from across the room, and Vivian held his unwavering glare, neither of them willing to be the first to look away. Already he challenged her. As punishment, she let her gaze slide over his massive form in a demeaning fashion.

Though they’d had little contact over the last hundred years, nothing about the brutish sell-sword had changed. Liam was rough and uncouth in the most delicious of ways, from the warrior’s mohawk he wore pulled back in a band to his scuffed biker boots. Frayed denim encased his powerful legs. Under his black leather jacket, his tight thermal clung to his barrel chest and mouth-watering pectorals.

She remembered how it felt to sit on his lap after one of her burlesque performances. The heat of those thick thighs resting beneath herderrière, his hard shoulder supporting her back while his fingers danced circles along her skin. How his coarse hand would span her waist, snagging the silk of her costumes.

She stifled a shiver and swallowed against her dry throat. It was fortunate he no longer had that effect on her. After all these years, she was completely immune.Oui. Immune.