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“No,” Louis-Cesare said, his voice hard as I struggled against his hold. “No!” he said, as I fought to get out of bed, to find the bastard who had done this to my family. “No!” he said, as I swore to make Jonathan bleed.

“Why are you doing this?” I yelled in my lover’s face, because try as I might, I couldn’t break that iron grip.

“I failed you!” he said, his color high. “I failed you tonight, and as a direct result, you lost two whom you love. You lost a part of yourself. I won’t fail you again!”

“Then get off me!”

“Dory.” I found my face captured between two huge hands. Sometimes I forgot just how big Louis-Cesare was. Before I met him, I’d usually gone for shorter men. At five foot two, nearly everyone was tall to me, and it made the height difference less ridiculous. Yet who had I married?

A six-foot-four-inch giant with matching hands and body, the latter of which was pressing me down into the mattress, forcing me to listen. I didn’t want to listen. And while I’m not as strong, I’m wily.

A second later, Louis-Cesare was sprawled on the bed, face up because I’d just flipped us. “I’m going after him!” I snarled.

I found myself flipped back again, and this time, he had a foot hooked under the bed, giving him leverage. Damned long legs! “I understand,” he said tightly, “You’re angry, and rightfully so. But you’re not thinking—”

“I don’t want to think! I want to kill something!”

“I know. I’ve been there. And I’ve seen others who experienced the loss of a Child. But I’ve also seen more than one master dead because they didn’t stop to heal—”

“I’m not a master,” I said, fighting him. “I’m not even a vampire. Without Dorina, I’m nothing—”

“That’s not true—”

“It’s completely true and you know it! Nobody gave a damn about me until they found out about her, so what difference does it make—”

I stopped, but not because he had said anything. But because he hadn’t. Not a word, yet the expression on his face was eloquent.

I had rarely seen Louis-Cesare angry. When you’re as powerful as he is, that sort of thing is dangerous. He usually kept himself on a tight leash.

But I was seeing it now.

The aristocratic face had gone deathly white, except for two little spots of color high on his cheekbones. His hair was everywhere, a tousled auburn mess, and the sapphire blue eyes were as bright as I’d ever seen them. He wasn’t angry, I realized. He was furious.

I stopped struggling.

“I give a damn,” he finally said, his voice harsh. “I didn’t fall in love with Dorina. I still barely know Dorina. I fell in love with you.”

He got up suddenly and walked away, not bothering with the opulent robe that somebody had draped over the end of the bed. I didn’t go after him. I was angry, too, more so than I’d been for a long time. He had no right to keep me here!

But he had positioned himself, whether intentionally or not, directly in front of both possible ways out. He was standing between me and the door, and looking out of the sweep of windows that were currently showing a fake, or at least very enhanced, view of the desert. We weren’t anywhere near the desert, being in the middle of Old Cairo, but the wards here were determined to present a pretty picture.

It was pretty, although not because of the sweep of stars or the moon silvering the sand dunes or the wind whipping a few palm trees around. I barely noticed them with my husband standing there. That word—husband—still felt strange, while lover rolled easily off the tongue. Maybe because I’d had lovers before, while the other . . .

I was still getting used to.

Lovers didn’t tell me what to do; lovers didn’t care. At least not the lovers I’d ever had. Some of them had been okay people; some had been outright bastards. But none had ever cared enough about me to get wounded by anything I said.

And yet choose to stick around anyway.

I hugged my knees as wondered what I was supposed to do now. I didn’t talk out problems; I hit things. But I didn’t want to hit Louis-Cesare. So, I sat there and stared at him instead, trying to come up with an argument that might get me out that door. It didn’t work, but the view was nice. The view was incredible.

He was powerfully but elegantly made, with long, graceful lines that flowed smoothly from the muscles of his shoulders and back to the smoothness of his buttocks and thighs. The lamplight loved him, glinting off the hints of red in that glorious mane, gilding the smattering of freckles on his shoulders, and turning the blue eyes to tawny gold.

But while anyone else who looked like that would have been trying to distract me, using his body to get me into another frame of mind, Louis-Cesare wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever known. It was probably why we kept bumping heads.

Even now, even after marrying the guy, I didn’t really understand him. I knew things about him: he was every inch the aristocrat from another age, with crazy ideas like noblesse oblige, the concept that rulers had a responsibility to the ruled, and that power came mixed with duty. That idea was woefully out of fashion among humans, and it had never been in style with vamps in the first place.

I knew that he had serious trust issues caused by a series of important figures in his life walking out on him—something we had in common. In fact, we had a lot in common, including a lifetime of being lied to, left behind, betrayed, and discarded. It had resulted in both of us having issues opening up and being fully honest, even with a partner, something we were still working on.

I knew that he was a mass of contradictions, with nature and nurture in his case having come into serious conflict. He was generous to a fault with money, but often stingy with his thoughts. He was kind and patient with subordinates, but could be harsh and irritated with those on his level who were behaving badly. He was willing to roll up his sleeves and do menial work when required, but he was proud, even haughty, with his fellow vamps, holding them to a code of ethics that they’d never subscribed to.

He was stubborn, my God was he stubborn! But he could be strangely open minded, too, accompanying me to shows for artists he’d never heard of, or listening—with the strangest look on his face—to some of the garage and neo-punk bands I liked, trying to see the allure. I don’t think that had worked, but we had discovered a mutual appreciation for trashy novels and spicy Sichuan cooking, so I supposed that was something.

But, no, I didn’t pretend to understand him. I’d partly agreed to this trip hoping to get away from the war and spend some quiet time together. And we had had a single, wonderful day. Hassani had been held up from playing chaperone by some court issue a couple of days ago, so we’d been given a local guide and a trip to the temple of Abu Simbel, the famous memorial to Ramses II and Queen Nefertiti.

Fortunately, we never made it there. I was already tired of aging stone monuments, desert sand, and heat. Instead, when our airplane stopped at Aswan, the nearest airport, we discovered a Nubian market and fell in love. Or, at least, I did, and Louis-Cesare hadn’t seemed to mind the idea of spending the day among a gorgeous collection of blue, yellow and green buildings, with colorful murals and quirky inhabitants, instead of a long, dusty trip into the desert.

So, we’d overruled our guide and gone shopping.

We’d started with a visit to a local family, who gave us bright red hibiscus tea while we tossed treats to their pet crocodiles. Crocs were everywhere in the village: alive, and waiting for their next snack; dead and carefully mummified; tiny and perched on a local man’s shoulder; or huge and skinned and splayed out above doorways. The usually vicious creatures had been tamed by being hand reared, along with being fed a hefty diet of chicken and fish, to the point that several of them were positively potbellied.

The left-over dinosaurs were well taken care of, being an important money maker for the locals. It was much needed after the famous Aswan Dam took their land away, which they were still waiting to be compensated for. The crocs were also a nod to the crocodile-headed, ancient Egyptian god Sobek, who ironically, like the dam, was supposed to control the flooding of the Nile.

Afterwards, we’d eaten an early lunch of hawawshi bought from a street vendor, which turned out to be a crispy pita bread stuffed with beef, onions, peppers and chilies—basically an Egyptian taco and every bit as good as it sounds. Then we wandered the streets, marveling at the artwork on the houses, which was huge, in your face, and exuberant. There was everything from abstract designs to full on murals, including a beautiful one of feluccas sailing on the Nile; from dusky Nubian beauties in traditional attire, to gorgeous Arabic calligraphy flowing along the sides of buildings like water; and, in a memorable instance, of a bunch of pert camels, one with his tongue sticking out.

Speaking of camels, the real things had been everywhere, with happy-looking pom poms dancing on their bridles in every color of the rainbow, to lure in tourists whose feet were starting to hurt. I had eyed them speculatively, but we’d chosen to walk to the market instead, where the hunt was soon on for the tackiest souvenir possible for my uncle Radu. He managed to combine deep pockets with Liberace taste, so it had been a struggle to find something suitable.

We’d finally settled on a galabeya, one of the full-length robes worn by men and women all over Egypt, in eye searing purple, with a shimmering phoenix on the back in gold paillettes and sequins. I was pretty sure it was supposed to be for a woman, but Louis-Cesare knew his Sire. He’d immediately declared the search over, and that Radu would love it.

He was very likely right.

The day had ended with savory-sweet chicken tagines with preserved lemon at a colorful restaurant overlooking the Nile. We’d completed the meal with spicy Nubian ginger-coffee made on charcoal and hot sand, while a glorious orange sunset splashed our faces. It was one of those perfect days, a picture postcard glimpse of a life that could be, and one that had given me unrealistic expectations for the rest of the trip.

Because that had been our only night off. I hugged my knees and jealously recalled the dreams I’d had for our honeymoon. Of lazy days sailing down the Nile, of a selfie on top of the tallest pyramid, of an evening making love in a tent in the desert with nobody but our camel around to hear . . .

Okay, maybe not that last one, since November could be chilly at night. Like this room. Like the knot in my gut, because I’d alienated the only person I had left and I wasn’t even sure why.

I bit my lip, my own anger having drained away as fast as it had come, which was normal for me. My husband tended to take a little longer. I found myself wanting to go to Louis-Cesare, but not sure that it wouldn’t make things worse.

Dhampirs didn’t do relationships. Dhampirs were lonely by nature. We had to be, as most of us weren’t much saner than the things we hunted. I’d always been more stable than the norm, but grouping with other people had been a rarity and usually short lived. There’d been hunting parties to take down bigger prey, even a few that lasted a week or two. And desperate groping sessions in the dark sometimes, with other hunters as lonely as me.

But nothing like this.

Nothing close to this.

Louis-Cesare was the longest I’d ever been with anyone, and I was pretty sure I was screwing this up. Make that definitely sure. I was also freezing without his warmth, in more than one way.

But Hassani’s people had thought of everything, and along with the luxurious sheets and warm blankets on the bed, there was a barbaric looking fur heavy enough to have been a rug, just in case the little half human got cold.

I sat up and pulled it close about me. And then decided what the hell, and dragged it off the bed to join my lover at the window. It felt barbaric against my naked skin, and looked it, too, with the dark brown color sheened by golden lamplight, the same that played over Louis-Cesare’s body. The wards around this place assured that we weren’t flashing the locals—probably—not that I cared much at the moment.

I didn’t say anything, not sure what would help, and for a long moment, we just stood there. Me wrapped in my fur, him wrapped in lamplight, neither speaking. I wasn’t even sure that he would.

But after a moment, he broke the silence.

“I almost lost you tonight,” Louis-Cesare said roughly. “I know you’re hurting, but did you stop to think how I would have felt if my stupidity had cost . . . even more than it did? You say you’re not important, that you can go running after your revenge and it won’t matter what happens to you. How can you not see—”

He broke off. He was still staring out the window, never having turned around, so his expression was hidden from me. I didn’t need it. There was pain in every line of his body, although not the physical kind. His healing abilities had already erased the signs of battle as if they’d never been. But there were other ways to hurt, and the stiffness of his stance and the almost painful rigidity of his spine spoke of deeper wounds.

The kind that even a vampire couldn’t always heal.

I put a hand on his back, and it felt like velvet stretched over steel. I smoothed it around his side, until I felt the warm, inward dip of his stomach, the ladder of his ribs, and the springy hair and soft indentations around a nipple. There was nothing to say, so I didn’t say it. But my touch seemed to be doing something.

Slowly, I felt a little of that awful tension start to ease.

I lay my cheek against his back and continued to say nothing. I didn’t pretend to understand everything that was going on with him, but I got part of it. I got enough.

Louis-Cesare and I weren’t the greatest with communication, but we were learning. It was like two skittish horses getting to know each other; there had been a lot of rearing and even some biting, but also some snuffling and staring and deliberate prancing, just to see if the other noticed. And, lately, some genuine intimacy, although with serious side eye, both wondering if the other was about to bolt.

But we were talking—about some things. About us. But there was one conversation we continued not to have. One topic that was till off limits.

Jonathan.

Not that I hadn’t tried. But nothing made Louis-Cesare close down faster, or clam up more completely. Maybe because he was the only creature in living memory that had made my husband feel weak. Powerless. Afraid.

A first-level master rarely experienced those emotions. He’d not only left behind human weakness, but had also forgotten what it was like to be a lower-level vampire, ordered about by the god-like beings on top of the heap. And that was truer for Louis-Cesare than for most, as even among first-level vamps, he was unusually strong.

He had been a dueling champion for the European consul, Anthony, for centuries, helping to support that crumbling wreck of a court. Because as lax as Anthony was, he was far better of a ruler than some who might have replaced him. And at the same time that Louis-Cesare was almost singlehandedly propping up a failing consul, he was also keeping another first-level master in thrall.

That was right: Louis-Cesare had kept one of the most powerful vampires on the planet under his control, bending him to his will in order to save the life of a woman he despised. But he had felt responsible for her, and he was honorable to a fault. So, he had expended a huge amount of power to make sure that she was safe.

Yet Jonathan had found a way to bring that same man to his knees, over and over and over again. Draining him of power and thereby of life, and in doing so, forcing Louis-Cesare’s family to have to scramble to find enough energy to support their master, feeding him everything they had through the blood bond to sustain him. Only to have most of it go to his tormentor.

Jonathan hadn’t merely victimized Louis-Cesare; he’d held the whole damned clan for ransom. It was a master vampire’s worst nightmare, that he would not be able to protect his family. So, yes, he did know what I was feeling.

The tension had slowly leaked out of him while we stood there, until he was leaning back against me. I put my arms around him from behind, dragging the fur along with them so that it covered us both. With his regal bearing, long, loose hair and fur draped form, he could have been a king from another time, or a Viking warrior lost on a raid and washed up on Egyptian shores.

But I’d seen plenty of beautiful bodies through the years; I’d seen far fewer beautiful souls.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

One of those large, yet elegant hands covered mine. “You mean everything to me,” he said hoarsely. “Everything. Promise me—”

“I promise,” I murmured, my cheek flat against the warmth of his back. “I won’t do anything tonight.”

I felt a little more tension melt out of his spine. “I swear to you, if they live, I will find those who hurt you. And wreak a bloody vengeance on our enemies.”

Ourenemies, I thought, a little startled. But, from a vampire perspective, they were, weren’t they? Louis-Cesare and I were married, meaning that my rag tag crew also belonged to him now. And anyone who hurt one of his . . .

I smiled against his back. “I know.”

He turned and swept me up in a kiss, so sudden that it took my breath away, although it probably would have done that anyway. Louis-Cesare knew how to kiss, but tonight . . . tonight there was something fierce in the way he gripped me, his fingers digging into the skin of my back and upper thigh. Something possessive in the way he picked me up and carried me back to the bed. Something savage in the way his lips plundered mine, and yet also shook slightly against my skin.

I was part of his family, and he’d almost lost me, I realized. He was trying to comfort me, while feeling the same way that I did. He wanted to go after them, too, the ones who had hurt me, wanted it desperately. But he would put that need on hold to make sure that I was all right.

Tears wet my cheeks, and I couldn’t tell if they were his or mine. If anyone ever asks why I married him, I thought. This, this is what I’ll tell them.