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The vampire was beside me in an instant, and while I still couldn’t see his face clearly, the concern radiating off of him was an almost tangible thing. He was beside himself. Because a dhampir was injured.

A dhampir.

That strange idea I’d had returned as he gently examined my right ankle, which appeared to be the culprit.

“This is broken,” he informed me after a moment, with his hands on my skin as gentle as if he was handling a newborn babe. “We must get you to Mircea.”

“Mircea?” I was confused. Morgan had mentioned the name, and indicated that she was sending me to the same place she’d sent him. Wherever that was. But Louis-Cesare could not hear spirits, so how did he know?

“I can feel him,” he told me, before I could ask. His face lifted, looking toward something off to our right. “It’s vague; I am not a part of his family in this era, and do not have that connection. But he isn’t far. If you allow me, I will take you to him.”

“For what?” I supposed that it was better if we were all together, for whenever Rhea or Hilde or somebody managed to come and find us, assuming that they did. But it seemed a strange thing to focus on right now.

Like the feel of his fingers on my flesh, not probing the wound, but just resting on the skin around it, doing something that dulled the pain. I tried to pull my thoughts away, but my mind, still confused and disorganized, kept coming back to it. And the fact that I liked it, liked a vampire’s touch, one who was strong when I was weak and injured, and could kill me in a moment.

But he wouldn’t. I knew that with a certainty that rang through every part of my being, knew it as I knew the sun would rise tomorrow or the stars would come out tonight. I didn’t know why I did, and should have suspected a ruse, but he didn’t need such things to overwhelm me. He didn’t need anything for that.

“He is a healer,” Louis-Cesare said, his hand on my forehead, brushing the limp hair aside. “It is one of his gifts. He can help you as I cannot.”

He started to pull me into his arms, but I fought him and he stopped. “Why would he?” I asked harshly, because I didn’t understand any of this! “Why would you? I am dhampir—”

“You are—” he caught himself just in time, but the hesitation rang loud in my ears, like a clashing cymbal.

It was the same one he’d had in the street when we first arrived in London, and he’d been talking to Rhea. I had been too busy trying to adjust to being without a body to pay much attention at the time, but it was impossible to ignore now. “I am what?”

“Much more than that to me,” he said, despite having had a moment to think about it.

Damn, but he was bad at this!

“And what is that exactly?” I persisted.

“My . . . friend—”

“Liar! Dhampirs and vampires are not friends!”

“We are. We have been for some time—”

“Liar! And until you tell me the truth, you aren’t taking me anywhere. I will fight you every step of the way—”

“You cannot!” he sounded appalled. “You’ll injure yourself further, and you are already bleeding, with a broken ankle and possibly additional injuries besides. I suspect a concussion; your eyes can’t even focus properly—”

“They’re dried out. That bitch left them open, even though I was kind enough to close hers.”

He said a bad word. And then decided that that wasn’t good enough and said a lot more. Until I grabbed his arm, on the second try, and squeezed as hard as I could. Which wasn’t very at the moment, but it stopped him.

“Who are we to each other?”

He didn’t answer. And because I couldn’t see him except as a large, auburn topped bit of fuzz, I couldn’t hope to read his expression. But when a stiletto wouldn’t work, you brought out a hammer.

“Tell me!”

He sighed in frustration, as if he had thought I would just let it go. “You remind me so of your father,” he said, and then stopped abruptly once again, but it didn’t matter.

There it was, the confirmation I’d been looking for, and hadn’t thought to find.

“I remind you . . . of Mircea?” I said carefully.

He didn’t answer for a long moment, and seemed reluctant when he did. “Hilde cautioned me to say nothing—”