Chucking his sword at the last attacker, he spun, snatched up the pack, took two fast strides and sprang. Too slow. He snarled as the blade thunked solidly into his lower back. It didn’t stop his forward momentum. Hitting Lyssa mid-body, he wrapped himself around her, tumbling them both through the portal.

  That absolute darkness again, but he smel ed forest floor beneath them. He was on top of her, her heartbeat under his chest, his arm stil around her waist, fingers curled in her tunic. When he put his forehead on hers, they drew a sigh of relief together.

  She felt her way down his back, found the serrated blade. As she pul ed it free, he shuddered at the tearing sensation, but refused to let her go. When he’d entered this dark chasm to the desert portal, it had been sinister, no place he’d want to linger. Now, free of the desert world, alive, and yet not quite in Rhoswen’s clutches, this in-between place was the best place he could imagine.

  Lyssa pressed her lips to his face, his cheekbone, his jaw, then his mouth. He cradled her face in his hands, deepened the kiss, pressing his body down into hers so he felt every curve, the way her thighs spread, a natural cradle for him.

  Then her touch slid down his jaw, to his throat. She broke the kiss and used her thumb to tilt his chin up, testing that restored strength, letting him feel the strain in his neck, his shoulders. With a Mistress’s natural bent, she demonstrated the ability to hold him as she wished. When her mouth touched his throat, he trembled, his fingers curling into the torn tunic on her hips.

  Jacob, you once again have a choice.

  “No, my lady.” He murmured it into her hair, the shel of that beautiful ear. “You do. I was always born to be your servant, from the very first time my soul came into this world. You are my heart, and if I’m not ful y bound to that heart, then I’m not whole. You understand?”

  “It is my choice.” She repeated it, her other hand moving to his face in the black, but he knew what her expression was, could tel only by her voice, the way he knew everything about her body language, her emotions, her cravings and darkness.

  He swal owed. “Yes, my lady. Al choices, when it comes to my life, my wil , are yours.” She was feeling a Mistress’s pleasure in his words, a Mistress’s craving that surged to the forefront, no matter the carnage they’d left behind, or how weak she felt, what she’d been through. It was not just the nature of the vampire, but the nature of the woman herself.

  The superior strength and quickness, those powers she’d given him with her turning, they would now reside within her once again, when she reached ful strength. While he could mourn those abilities to protect her, and there would be times his alpha nature would deeply regret their loss when he wanted to resist her attempts to be too much the Mistress with him, he knew this was how it was meant to be. She’d tilted the universe to save him, and the universe had been kind enough to al ow it.

  But now it was returning to how it was meant to be.

  “Please, my lady. Lyssa.”

  Her fangs eased in, a hum in her throat, an emotional sound echoed in his aching heart.

  I’ve missed this, Sir Vagabond. Feeding from you as a vampire.

  I’ve missed it as well, my lady. And he had. There in the desert world, he’d almost begged her to take the precious time to reinstitute that mark.

  I like it when you beg, Jacob. You know this. “But I also know your heart.” She slid her fangs out to tease him a bit as she spoke, pricking his skin. “I feel that emptiness, cal ing to me. I want that bond as wel , enough to make me hesitate, to be sure you’re sure. You say it is my choice, and I will agree it is, for you long ago surrendered to me as your Mistress, but I wil ask you to say it one more time.”

  “I wil do more than that, my lady.” Lifting her hand, he placed it upon his chest, over his heart, and spoke the oath he’d taken under Thomas’s training.

  The oath he’d spoken the night he’d been given fifty lashes, part of the Ritual of Binding to a Vampire Queen.

  “I am sworn to your service. Compel ed by absolute loyalty, I safeguard your wel -being before my own or any other ties of family or friendship. I swear it by the giving of my blood to you and before al of divinity, may my life be cursed and my soul be damned if I speak false or ever betray the vow.” She pressed her fangs back into him again then, and this time he felt the release of the serum. He made himself hold stil for it, even though he wanted her so badly. He wanted to touch her, to press her body back down under his, reinforce that oath, this re-marking. The craving was so fierce he wondered if he’d somehow retained that ceaseless vampire carnality.

  Sexual drive is still very strong in a third-mark, Jacob. A touch of humor, coupled with something deeper, moved through her. Plus, you have always had a delicious, natural abundance of it.

  Lyssa slid a hand over her servant’s chest. Her servant. One taste of her blood away from being her ful servant once again. She had to admit it . . . she’d been a vampire for a long time, and though her Fae blood was an integral part of her, this felt more like her real self. In the end, perhaps she was more a vampire with Fae powers, than a Fae with vampire ones. It was good to feel that, to know that. To understand more about who and what she was. To feel a true sense of that, the power and strength of it, for the first time in several years. Even if she was otherwise a bit on the weak side . . . at the moment.

  Lying back on the forest floor, she drew him down upon her again. “Brace yourself over me, Jacob,” she commanded in a husky voice.

  He pressed his palms into the earth on either side of her. In this utter darkness, where neither had the ability to see, it was even more intimate. Though she always liked the pleasure of seeing him, touch had its own special benefits. Opening his laced trousers, she slid her hand over his cock, thick and ready in her hand. It was already turgid from her marking him, the significance of that having its effect on him. It had moved her deeply, how important it was to him, how much he wanted that mark reinstated, to the point it had almost panicked him, not having it. She understood, because she experienced the same feeling, knowing it wasn’t there.

  The leggings she wore were in tatters, so it was easy enough to slip out of them, guide him into her.

  “At my pace, my servant,” she whispered, and he obeyed, holding back al that delicious strength as she took him slowly to the hilt, then drew him down upon her. His elbows came to rest in line with his palms, surrounding her. He didn’t like putting his ful weight on her, always worried about her comfort, but she let him see in her mind now that he was not causing her any harm, only pleasure. She wanted his weight as she tilted her head back, guided his mouth to her throat, that delicious feeling of a Goddess nurturing her lover, even as she took him in her body.

  It reminded her of the ritual she’d witnessed with Tabor and Rhoswen the previous night.

  Drink from me, Jacob. Make the mark complete.

  He’d remembered how to use his canines, how to bite strong and not hesitate, using the second-mark strength to be decisive about it. Her pussy rippled around him as he did it, welcoming him. During that fight before the portal opened, though the two of them were wel coordinated in battle, their mind communication aligned, it wasn’t the same as a third mark. She’d felt that absence keenly, a knife in her lower vitals as much as it was for him.

  It swept through them both, that disorienting power and heat, the wash of energy that momentarily locked their bodies together in its burn. The third-marking bound his soul to her. She could dive as deeply into him as she wished, owning every part of him, every molecule of blood, every muscle, every thought, every wish, every feeling. It required, no, demanded a level of trust unknown in any world.

  Human, vampire or Fae. Only vampires and servants had this potential, because once the bond was made, a servant had no choice but to learn to accept it. However, those like Jacob who took the step into that unknown territory wil ingly, who embarked on that journey, and the vampires who appreciated that leap of faith—a leap ironical y that they themselves, as Dominants, did not often have the same ability to take—had a relationship like no other.

  As she felt that bond again, she exulted in it, revitalized in a way that might be deceptive, given her many hours in the desert world, but she would accept it nevertheless. She knew he’d miss the ability to protect her to the level that being a vampire had given him, but he didn’t realize he’d protected her more than any male who’d ever been in her life.

  Most of the time, she could take care of herself physical y. It was on the emotional terrain she’d always had to defend her own ramparts, guard against ambushes. She’d never been able to relax certain parts of herself enough to ful y love. He’d given her that, her brave, reckless Irish knight.

  She squeezed down on him then, holding him banded in her arms as she lifted her hips, took him d e e p e r. Give me pleasure, Jacob. Give me everything. His back was already healing, the power of a third-marking.

  He licked the wound on her neck, suckled her there, then moved up to her lips, letting her taste her blood on his mouth. Slipping a hand under her nape, he held her to deepen the kiss, then braced his hand next to them to obey her, beginning to thrust, slow, easy, then harder, reinforcing the fact they were alive, bonded, unable to be separated. She gasped into his mouth, her arousal building so quickly it startled her. Jacob had once made the joke that a half-dead vampire could stil fuck a person to death before they gave out, and she remembered it now, gloriously. Vampire or no, Jacob could make her body sing like no other lover she’d had.

  Careful, my lady. You know how full of myself I can get.

  Duly noted, Sir Vagabond. She put her smile against his temple, a smile that became a straining, parted-mouth cry as he pushed her up and over the wal of her climax, fal ing with her only when she gave him leave to do so, something he’d always done, even as vampire.

  He was her devoted knight, serving her to the last reserves of his soul.

  19

  THEY emerged from that darkness into a Fae morning. Since Jacob had explained the sun issue to her, it didn’t make her recoil. Instead, she stopped, drew in the scent of the morning air and lifted her face to the warmth, closing her eyes. “I’l miss this as wel .”

  “Maybe if this liaison thing works out, you’l be able to visit again.”

  “Rhoswen wil probably change the environment so I’l be toasted the next time I step into this world.”

  “True. Queens can be a bit vindictive that way.” She sent a narrow glance his way. He was resting on his heels at a stream edge, trailing his fingers in the water, mesmerizing a smal group of fish with large purple eyes and iridescent pink tails. Now, though, he straightened, came to her side. “Looks like we have a visitor.”

  Keldwyn reined up, two horses fol owing obediently in his wake, mounts from Rhoswen’s stable. “Wel met, Lady Lyssa,” he said. “It appears you succeeded.”

  His expression remained bland, despite her appearance. She was filthy and bloody, her snarled hair was coated with a fine layer of sand from the desert world. She wore the cloak Jacob had brought with him, covering the tattered and bloodstained tunic and leggings.

  “That remains to be seen. I’ve yet to see Rhoswen.

  Is she out of the mourning period?”

  “Yes, as of a few hours ago. You just made the three-day window.” At Jacob’s puzzled look, calculating, Keldwyn shook his head. “It’s impossible to predict the rate of Fae time between magical portals.”

  “I expect she would have stretched her deadline if she thought she’d stil get what she wanted.” But Lyssa’s dry tone turned to something entirely different then. His lady stil had the ability to cool the temperature around her, a warning of her temper a man would be a fool not to heed. And Keldwyn was not a fool. Lyssa stepped closer, leveling a hard gaze on him.

  “My father’s crime was love. Loving a vampire, getting her with child. How could anyone but a pack of . . . monsters feel that desert was a just punishment?”

  “In your own world, what punishments have been handed out to vampires or servants who have loved one another unwisely?” Keldwyn shifted his gaze to Jacob, then back to her. “It is often not a fair world, Lady Lyssa. But love persists, in al its foolishness, doesn’t it?” Keldwyn dismounted then, offered her a hand. “Can I help you on your mount, escort you to the queen?”

  Lyssa ignored the hand, though she did close the three steps between them. “His death destroyed something in you, didn’t it?”

  For a long moment, Keldwyn said nothing. Jacob felt the magic the Fae Lord carried within him shift the air around them uneasily, as if she’d stepped on the trigger for a mine. A tiny muscle flickered at the corner of one dark eye. When Keldwyn spoke, his tone was so even it was like a thread pul ed perilously taut.

  “Yes.”

  The power of that one word, the pain behind it, was enough to have Lyssa’s eyes softening. She laid a hand on his face, a brief touch. He stayed entirely stil , a dangerous animal who didn’t trust himself, then she nodded, stepped back. “Have you seen Catriona?”

  His jaw tightened. “That is hardly your concern.”

  “No. But it is yours. Since she’s behind you, you may want to address it.”

  It was a rare moment to see Keldwyn startled. He twisted around. The dryad stood at the edge of the clearing. Her short dress of gauzy layers looked like pale blue and green leaves. Tiny shimmers of light sparkled over it, reflecting the same in her wings, soft flickers. Her brown hair was down, waving around her face, her thin face and large eyes young, vulnerable. She looked like a deer that might bolt, torn between trepidation and need.

  Leaving Keldwyn standing there, Lyssa moved toward their two horses. Jacob fol owed to lift her onto the white mare’s back. As she adjusted her seat to straddle the mount, freeing her cloak, Jacob swung onto the blood bay next to her. Keldwyn and Catriona had not moved, regarding one another silently.

  “We’l see you at the castle, Lord Keldwyn,” Lyssa said. As they moved out of the clearing, his horse snorted, but faithful y held his position near his master. Catriona’s gaze flickered briefly to them.

  The dryad gave Jacob a nod, Lyssa a glance, and then she was back to holding that unspoken, emotional communication with the Fae Lord.

  “It’s like the Dr. Seuss book,” Jacob said, his voice pitched low.

  “The one where the two characters refuse to step around each other, and stand there for decades while civilizations rise and fal around them?” At his surprised look, Lyssa shrugged. “I like Dr. Seuss.” When she paused at the forest’s edge, Jacob reined in and they both looked back. One more heartbeat of stil ness, and then Catriona was moving, running across the clearing on dainty feet, her wings lifting her in graceful, urgent bounds of motion. Keldwyn stood motionless until the last moment, when abruptly he stepped forward as if he’d broken out of ice. He barely got his arms open before she hit his chest. He was braced for her, though, his arms wrapping hard around her. Even at this distance, they could tel the male was trembling from head to toe, so hard he went to one knee, holding her folded against him like a ragdol .

  Pressing his jaw down on the top of her head, he clutched her like a father welcoming home a long lost

  daughter, and perhaps he was.

  Jacob shifted his glance to Lyssa, saw her eyes glistening. Crying was something his lady had often told him she never did. Now she tossed her head to cover it, in that haughty way he knew wel , that he’d missed. Something vital had come back to her, and by God, he loved seeing it, no matter what they were about to face—or the fact they really needed to get more blood in her before she fel over. Nudging his horse up against hers as they rode, he brushed her knee in companionable silence when they moved away from the family reunion and headed for Rhoswen’s castle.

  Cayden was on his bench at the gatehouse. Jacob raised a brow at the bruise on his face, a split lip. As the captain rose to take hold of the bridle of Lyssa’s mount, he moved stiffly. Jacob’s gaze narrowed. He knew that way of walking. “She had you flogged?”

  “The queen metes out justice as she sees fit. It was fair. I was told to stop you. I didn’t.” Jacob bit down on a retort at Lyssa’s warning glance. Fol owing his lady and Cayden through the courtyard, he noticed the staff gave them some curious glances. With their heightened senses, they probably detected their differences, even if not the clear nature of them.

  When they reached the main hal , there were no retainers and no throne. No ice sculptures, either.

  Just fountains this time, fil ing the wide space with the sound of rushing water. Rhoswen sat on the edge of the largest fountain, one with a life-sized statue of a Fae lord on a horse in the center, the water pouring out from the dais beneath the horse’s feet. Floating in the fountain were thick rose blooms, petals jeweled with drops from the fountain. Probably bespel ed never to wilt, their life essence captured inside.

  His lady stopped, stared at the statue. Rhoswen didn’t look up, though she obviously knew they were there. Lyssa glanced at him, nodded, her pale face quiet, serene.

  Wait here at the door, Jacob.

  Her servant obeyed reluctantly, but when he took up position at the entranceway, Lyssa noted Cayden stayed with him, as if his queen had commanded the same. Interesting. A pace or two away from Rhoswen, she stopped, studied the statue. The noble features, broad shoulders. The planes of his face that reminded her of her own. Her chest tightened, her heart doing a double beat. “Is this what he looked like?”

  “Yes.” Rhoswen passed her fingers through the water, caressing the roses. She didn’t lift her gaze.

  Her hair was tied loosely on her shoulders. “At Beltane, in honor of spring and creation, there is a competition of sorts. Each contestant brings forth something they have created to honor the new season, and to please the Unseelie queen and Seelie king. The king and queen choose the best of the new creations, and that creation is displayed appropriately until the fol owing year. The year after Lord Reghan was sentenced, Lord Keldwyn commissioned an artisan to do this. He offered it as his entry. A Seelie or Unseelie of his rank wasn’t expected to participate in a common competition in the first place. It’s typical y for the solitary Fae. So it was obviously an act of defiance.”