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“H ereditary High Prince of the Faeries, to be more exact,” Robert said from his spot in the doorway before he walked to Jesse and extended a hand to help him up. “Now, would someone like to tell ol’ Robbie what the bloody hell’s going on in here? That scream likely aged me five years.”

Destiny’s mind crowded with questions, the shock of what she’d just seen blocking them all. It couldn’t be. None of it was possible.

And yet… she’d seen the proof with her own eyes.

She watched silently, trying to sort out her thoughts as, with Robert’s assistance, Jesse rose to his feet, rubbing his shoulder. A sheepish grin lit his face when he spoke to his friend.

“Just got a little carried away with our demonstration.” Jesse tilted his head in her direction. “She didn’t believe in Faeries. We were trying to convince her.”

“Aye, well, that one is quite the big bite to swallow, is it no?” Robbie nodded thoughtfully. “I had my own experience with the believing of it a long time ago. There’s many a mystery in the world, lass. Yer life will be easier by far if you just accept and move on. That’s my motto these days.”

“How did you do that?” Destiny at last untangled the words in her head and found herself moving across the room without thought, as if pulled by some unknown force. She stopped in front of Pol and reached out tentatively to trail her fingers down his arm. “You’re solid. I can feel you. And yet, I watched you evaporate. How did you do that? How did he go right through you?”

“I told you. I am Fae. As the Earth Mother decreed long ago, the Fae can neither commit nor experience violence in the Mortal World. We are as the mist of the time flow.”

The mist in her visions! What had her father’s voice called it? “The time flow of the All-Conscious,” she murmured, remembering the words from her vision.

“Yes,” he agreed, catching up her hand.

Robbie cleared his throat, as if embarrassed to interrupt. “I’m all packed and ready to go whenever you’d like to leave, yer grace.”

“You’re not staying the night?”

Jesse asked the question as he took Destiny’s hand from Pol’s, lacing his own larger fingers with her smaller ones, though she hadn’t even noticed when he’d moved so close beside her.

“No. Robert has kindly offered to transport me to Seun Fardach to see my little Rosie and her family while I am here. If my fortune holds, I may even have the opportunity to visit with my Mairi before I return home.”

“In that case, I’ll see you off.” Jesse squeezed Destiny’s hand before letting go. “You okay?”

She nodded, her thoughts still too jumbled to voice all the questions running through her mind.

When the men left the room, she dropped her head to her hands, her fingers covering her eyes. This was too much to accept. It felt as if someone had turned her entire world upside down and dumped her out into some alternate universe where evil Faeries kidnapped young girls and drank their blood.

“My poor Leah,” she whispered as the horror of her sister’s fate washed over her, freeing the tears she had tried to hold back.

How could her life have come to this? Hadn’t she done everything she could to be normal? And still her life had raged away, always slipping through her fingers no matter how hard she struggled to maintain control.

Memories, like jagged puzzle pieces, tumbled behind her closed eyes, vying for her attention.

Her father’s desertion had taken them overnight from a life of ease to a poverty-level subsistence. They’d had nothing but each other, and then even that had been taken away. Her mother’s long illness followed by her escape into alcohol, her subsequent death, Chase running away—all these memories and the feelings of loss she’d struggled to deny for so long washed over her now, their assault as painful as physical blows.

She’d managed to push them back, to lock them away into neat little compartments in her mind, allowing her to avoid the inevitable confrontation for years. Her family wasn’t like everyone else. She wasn’t like everyone else.

When Leah had disappeared and the authorities declared it simply another teenage runaway case, she’d thought that was as bad as it could get, but she’d been wrong.

What was it Robert had said earlier? Life would be easier if she would just accept and move on. But he didn’t understand that accepting the bizarre truth they’d forced on her tonight would strip away all her barriers, all her defenses, leaving her naked against the onslaught of her memories.

All the things her mother had told them, all the things she’d chalked up to the woman’s fantastic alcohol-fueled rants—they were all true. Her father really was a Faerie who’d left his family to protect them.

God, but she hoped the coward was pleased with himself. If the lives they’d had after he’d left was his idea of protected, she couldn’t begin to fathom how awful his staying might have been for them.

She didn’t realize she was sobbing until Jesse’s arms surrounded her, pulling her into his chest while he stroked her hair, making soft little shushing noises of comfort.

How long she stood there, wrapped in the safety of his arms, she had no idea. Finally the onslaught ebbed, and she pulled away, wiping at her face.

Wonderful. She’d managed to leave a big wet spot on another of his shirts.

With an arm around her shoulders, he guided her from the room and toward the stairs. “Why don’t I show you to your room? You can wash up and I’ll go throw a couple of steaks on the grill. How’s that sound?”

She nodded, not trusting the tears to be fully gone, and they slowly made their way upstairs to a landing that looked down over the foyer. A long hallway stretched out ahead of them, apparently running the length of the house, closed doors dotting both sides. They passed by the first doorway, stopping at the second.

After opening the door, Jesses stepped back, allowing her to enter ahead of him.

The bedroom looked like something out of a magazine photo spread. Beautiful and impersonal. Unlived in, as if a decorator had designed the perfect guest room and then walked out, closing it away from everyone.

“You’ve got your own bathroom and you’re safe here, so I won’t even give you grief about leaving your door closed tonight. Plenty of privacy. I’m just down the hall if you need me. My room is the one by the stairs. The door will be open.” He traced his thumb down her wet cheek, staring intently as if trying to read her thoughts. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

He started down the hallway toward the stairs, but she couldn’t let him go just yet.

“You’re always asking me that, you know. If I’m okay.”

He looked back and shrugged, a magnificent grin transforming his face into a thing of beauty. “Yeah. I’m not so good at the emotional stuff, babe. Sorry. But I am good at steaks. You come on down when you’re ready.” With that he disappeared down the stairs.

Destiny shut the bedroom door and leaned her forehead against it, her emotions spiraling again, but not with sorrow or despair this time.

That man was much better at the emotional stuff than he knew.

“Motherfu—!”

Jesse bit down on the expletive as he jerked his hand away from the hot grill and then looked around the dark patio guiltily. He was grateful that Destiny had carried their dirty plates back inside a few minutes earlier and had missed his outburst.

He gritted his teeth in irritation with himself. He’d promised her during dinner that he’d watch his language. Though what possessed him to make such a promise was beyond him. There was just something about this woman that allowed her to get under his skin in a way no one else ever had.

She’d shared some little family story about her mother not allowing them to use curse words growing up, and her eyes had gone all sad with unspoken memories. Next thing he knew, he was making wild-assed promises to clean up his mouth, as if he were compelled to wipe that sorrow away.

Whatever. The promise was made now and he meant to keep it. No matter what.

He grabbed the platter and wineglasses left on the table and headed inside.

She was loading the dishwasher when he entered the kitchen. The sight of her there, all domestic and busy, so much like she belonged in that spot, stopped him in his tracks.

It had been the same all through dinner. They’d talked nonstop, as if they’d known each other all their lives, sharing things he’d never shared with anyone else.

Watching her now, he fought the urge to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and run his hands over her enticing curves, to bury his nose in her soft black hair. To turn her around and lose himself in those soft full lips. To rip that tight little T-shirt off and wrap his hands around…

What was he thinking? He was losing it. Client, he reminded himself. He had to get over this.

“Is that everything?” she asked without turning from her task.

“Yeah.” He crossed to the sink and turned on the faucet, holding his hand under the cold water to lessen the sting of the bright red welt.

Didn’t matter. Small wounds always healed quickly. Thanks to his Faerie bloodline, the burn would be gone by tomorrow afternoon. Sure hurt like a son of a bitch right now, though.

“What did you do?” One second she was elbow deep in dirty dishes and the next she was at his side, fussing over his hand like a mother hen with one chick.

He was tempted to let her, but then reason kicked in and he pulled his hand away from her touch.

“It’s nothing. Why don’t you go on into the living room and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You sure?” Her expression was as doubtful as her tone.

Oh, he was sure, all right.

“Yeah, go on. Go put your feet up. You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

She shrugged and turned her back, leaving him with his raging hormones and private thoughts.

For some reason this woman threw him off his game and he couldn’t afford that right now. He had to stay sharp or people would get hurt. Destiny wasn’t the only one expecting a big day tomorrow.

He would have preferred to fly out to Sedona tonight, leaving her here where he knew she’d be safe. On the off chance that Peter didn’t manage to track the location of the computer that sent the email, he’d still need her to make the meeting at the Farmers’ Market. And there was no way in hell he was taking her out there, closer to those monsters, any sooner than he had to.

So, tomorrow it was.

Robbie would meet them at the airstrip in the morning and accompany them as his backup. He couldn’t ask for better.

They’d fly into Flagstaff and drive to Sedona. Not his first preference, but the safest choice. He’d bet money that whoever Dermond Tyren worked for would have people watching the Phoenix airport and possibly even the small Sedona airstrip.

But Flagstaff? Not the normal route for the casual traveler. No big airliners landed there. He might not even have thought of it if not for her vision of the Flagstaff signpost.

If all went as planned, they’d have the coordinates to locate the origin of the email by the time they landed tomorrow and he could find a spot to leave Destiny. Safely out of harm’s way.

Under the circumstances, he’d tried to cover all his bases.

Jesse slammed the dishwasher door and latched it, Pol’s parting words still eating away at the back of his mind.

Be vigilant, Guardian. Though the evil of the Bloodlust has returned, it’s more dangerous now than in the Long Ago. The Nuadians aren’t taking blood from Mortals. They’re feeding off the new race, those half Mortal, half Fae creatures in whom the magic of the old Fae now resides. We’ve no way of knowing what powers this might give them.

And here he was, getting ready to drag Destiny directly into that viper’s nest. He was, to borrow one of his father’s favorite sayings, dancing on a thin blade.

In the archway to the living room he paused, absorbing the scene before him.

Destiny sat on the sofa, her head back against the cushion, eyes closed, her bare feet tucked up under her. He was once again struck with the overwhelming familiarity of her presence, as if she belonged there in his home.

Bizarre, really. He’d never brought his “work” home before. He’d always kept his personal life and his professional life entirely separate.

Believing her asleep, he quietly entered and flipped off the nearest lamp, leaving the room bathed in the soft, dim glow of only one light.

“Sit with me.”

She patted the sofa and he turned to find her smiling up at him.

“I thought you’d dozed off.” Maybe he’d even hoped she had.

She shook her head. “No. I know I should, but my nerves are too raw for sleep.” She smiled and held up an empty glass. “I hope you don’t mind. I decided to finish off the drink you didn’t touch earlier. Thought it might help take the edge off.”

A full glass of Faerie Nectar? Yeah, if it affected her like it did him, the next time she tried to stand up she wouldn’t even remember she had edges.

“I don’t mind. I hope it helps. There’s wine left from dinner if you’d like more.”

“No. I’m not really much of a wine drinker. But this”—she wiggled the empty glass—“this was good. It tasted like pineapple.”

He always thought so, too, though his sister and her husband swore it tasted of chocolate.

Sitting down next to her, he piled a couple of small pillows in between them. Not as barrier, really. More to rest his arm on.

When he stretched out his legs, propping his feet on the coffee table, she leaned forward to set down the glass before shifting in her seat to face him.

“How’s your hand?”

“It’s okay.” Still stung like hell, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Looks like it hurts.”

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and he pulled it back to escape her grasp, but surprisingly she held on, the resulting tug jarring his still sensitive shoulder. His reaction was too slow to mask the wince of pain.

“And that…” Her eyes narrowed as she nodded her head toward his shoulder. “That happened when you and Pol performed your little demonstration for my benefit, didn’t it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Right. Show me, then, if it’s nothing.”

Irritating woman. “I told you, I’m fine.”

She was on her knees now, legs under her, bending forward. “If it were me that had happened to, it would be altogether different, wouldn’t it? But you’re Mr. Macho. Oooooo, Big Boss Man. Too tough to admit to being human.” She clicked her tongue in disgust. “Typical male double standard.”

His temper flared. “You want to see it?”

It wasn’t bad enough that all he could think about sitting this close to her was how good she smelled. How inviting she looked. How she’d feel stretched out under him.

Now, on top of all that, she wanted him to remove his shirt, feeding into the hunger he already battled.

A hunger to take her right here, right now, on the sofa where she kneeled beside him, her eyes sparkling with her challenge. But he was stronger than that.

At least he hoped he was.

“You want to see it?” he asked again, fighting to control his voice this time. He lifted the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up as he slid his arm out, baring his injured shoulder. “There it is. I don’t do double standards, lady.”

Immediately he regretted his impulsiveness. He should have gotten up and walked away. Left the room.

The control he’d always prided himself on was nowhere to be found.

Her eyes widened and she made a little noise, like air rushing from her lungs. She leaned closer, shoving the pillow barrier out of her way in the process.

“What is that?” She reached out to him, tracing her fingertip over the tattoo covering his arm.

The Guardian mark came alive under her touch, his skin tingling and burning.

“Just a tat.” He covered her hand, reluctantly pulling it from its track.

“Where did you get it done?” She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from it, stretching out her free hand to run her fingers over his skin again.

He captured that one, too, holding them together as she finally looked directly at him.

“I know that symbol, Jesse. That snake with the line through it. That same thing is engraved on the necklace my mother always wore.”

He shrugged and pushed her away, unwilling to go into an explanation of how all Dallyn’s Elite Guardians bore the ancient mark. He’d have to see later what he could find out about where the necklace had come from.

Right now all he could think about was the sensations left behind where she’d touched him.

She seemed to recover herself, and reached out again, this time for his injury, resting her hand lightly over the bruise that covered his shoulder. The heat of her palm burned his skin, as if imprinting the feel of her touch into his memory.

“You should probably have that looked at,” she murmured.

“No need for that.” It would be gone tomorrow. They always were. What he did need right now was to get her hand off him. To get some distance between them before he forgot things he shouldn’t.

Things like her being no different from the long string of needy women he’d had pass through his life, all looking for some man to support them.

The instant the thought passed through his mind he recognized it as unfair to Destiny. He tried to dismiss it, struggled to rein in his cascading emotions, reaching instead for the safety of logic. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t keep his mind off having her. She hadn’t stalked him in bars, pressing his friends for an introduction, as Lara had. Destiny was different. She’d been up front in what she wanted from the first. She’d come to him needing his help to find her sister.

In her case, it was better he concentrate on things like her being emotionally vulnerable right now. Things like her being his client.

He pulled back from her, reaching up to shove his arm back into his shirt as an excuse to move away, but she stopped his movement with a cool hand to his cheek. With the barest pressure of her palm, she guided his face to turn toward hers, and he found himself allowing her to do it.

“You’re all about protecting people, aren’t you? Taking care of them.” She slid her hand along the side of his face and down around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she swayed closer. “But I wonder, my Jesse. Do you ever allow anyone to take care of you?”

“I don’t need…”

His words stopped as her hands skimmed down and across his chest, pushing his shirt up and over his head, tugging it down his other arm and tossing it to the floor.

Why he didn’t stop her, he couldn’t say. Perhaps because he didn’t want her to stop.

The next thing he knew, she was in his lap, straddling him, pulling her T-shirt off over her head and tossing it away, much as she had thrown his to the floor moments earlier.

“Des.”

It was the only warning he could voice as her arms snaked around him, her fingers tracing the muscles he felt tensing in his back at her touch.

This couldn’t be anything but bad news and still he made no move to stop her.

She pressed against him, the warmth of her melting into his chest, the contact of their skin separated only by the thin cloth of her bra.

“Shhh,” she whispered.

And then she smiled. Softly. Slowly.

He found himself unable to resist the sparkle of invitation in her eyes or the siren call of those soft pink, pouty lips.

Good, bad, didn’t matter anymore. Just words in the dictionary, and right now, reading was not on his To Do list.

Crushing her to him, he captured those lips, thrusting his tongue into the heat of her mouth, finding it welcomed, the thrust returned in kind.

By the time he reached behind her to unhook the delicate piece of lace covering her breasts, she’d already unbuttoned his jeans.

He laid her back on the sofa, looming over her as she lifted her arms for him to pull the bra away, and then her breasts were free, bared for his view, as if they demanded his attention.

And who was he to argue with a demand like that?

Smooth, firm, creamy skin yielded to his touch. Her breasts molded to his palms as if her body had been created just for his pleasure.

She moaned as he ran the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, each one hardening under his caress, and he lowered his head to trace one pebbled tip with his tongue.

The taste of her skin was intoxicating, as much like pineapple as the Faerie Nectar she’d drunk.

He froze, the muscles of his abdomen jerking in response to her hands pushing into his open jeans. Skimming relentlessly on until her fingers tightened around his straining erection. Gliding up and down until, with a ragged breath, he was forced to grab her hands and pull them away.

“You don’t like that?” she murmured breathlessly. She wrapped her jeans-clad legs up and around his hips, encouraging him down onto her.

Oh, he liked it. “Like it. Too much,” he panted. Still holding her wrists, he lifted them over her head and sank into her, kissing her breast, her arm, her elbow, her forehead, her neck, and finally, her beautiful, full lips.

Beautiful, full, completely unresponsive lips.

As he fought to slow his heart, he took in her closed eyes, the delicate part of her mouth, the tiny snore that escaped her lips.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. Dropping his forehead to her soft breast, he inhaled the sweet, delicate scent of her silky skin, trying to breathe through the painful throb of his need. “Holy fucking shit.”

He didn’t even care if she heard him, though another quiet little snore assured him she wouldn’t.

One last kiss to the supple mound beneath his lips and he rose, lifting her in his arms to carry her up to her bed, unsure whether he was grateful for her passing out or not.

Not seemed to be winning at the moment.

Tomorrow he’d have to face the aftereffects of what they’d nearly done and his serious lapse in judgment allowing it.

Maybe he’d get lucky and she wouldn’t remember any of tonight.

He, on the other hand, knew there was no way in hell he’d forget even the smallest detail anytime soon.