“Because what one dog wil do to a cat is a different matter from what a pack wil do,” the fifty-something majordomo had observed earlier.

  “A universal truth,” Lyssa murmured. That moment had been the beginning of her mood shift.

  At dusk on the fol owing day, they’d start seeking the whereabouts of a dryad trapped somewhere among the concrete, glass and asphalt of downtown Atlanta. But tonight, Jacob watched his lady draw strength from the brown earth beneath her bare feet.

  When she at last stopped in the inner circle of her garden, where the plants were oldest, those that bloomed with the sweetest, deepest fragrance, she lowered herself to the ground graceful y, sitting on one hip. She wore one of the older skirts she used for her gardening, an oversized Renaissance shirt loose over it. The shirt had belonged to Rex, her former husband. An unsettling choice, but Jacob understood that as wel . Another reminder of what she had to become again, from a time when she’d had to be more guarded than she’d ever been, her emotions locked behind a fortress to protect what she held dear.

  In the kitchen with Ingram, he’d seen the sharp, calculating intel igence she’d always possessed. But he also had a window to the scars that had lingered inside her from the events of the past couple of years, things those white knuckles on the table had betrayed.

  When he’d met her, his lady’s confidence had been unshakable. Even now, he’d put his money on her against the intel igence or brutality of most opponents. However, something had shifted. She was more unsure of herself, afraid of the consequences of her actions. Her irritation with that, with her inability to overcome two years’ worth of traumatic events to reclaim that steady core of certainty, was severe. She viewed it as a liability to her, to him and to their son. It made her savagely angry with herself. So when it became unbearable, she paced, hoping to find what he knew only time and other, as yet unknowable factors, could bring back to her.

  What he could give her was his unshakable faith that it would happen. His confidence could be hers.

  Feeling her frustration getting beyond what he could bear to let her handle alone, he moved into the garden, came to her. As he sank to his heels, he slid his arms around her, and was glad when she laid her head on his biceps, though her hands stayed compressed in her lap. “I hate this shirt,” he said.

  Nudging her head to the side, he gave her the sharp edge of his fangs, underscoring how fervently he felt about it. She shivered in his arms, a sweet coil of desire moving through her. She wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the loose shirt and he cupped her breasts, the peaks pressing into his palms. “I’m going to make it disappear one day, I swear to God.”

  “You’d never destroy it.” She drew in a breath as he punctured her skin, drawing out a sweet, smal drop of blood, teasing the artery with his tongue.

  “You understand too wel why I keep it.”

  “I wish there was no reason for you to keep it.” She was silent at that, and he changed tactics. He hummed against her skin, until her shoulders relaxed somewhat. “What is that?” she asked.

  “‘Stand by Me,’ by Ben E. King. Surely you’ve heard it.” He told her the words, spoke the opening lyrics. How he’d stand by her when the night came, when al was dark. Her lips curved.

  “Actual y, since you’re a vampire, it would have to be dark. So I am not overly impressed.” He chuckled, pressed a kiss to her temple. “If the world crumbles, I’l be here, my lady.”

  “I know.” She hooked her hands over his forearm.

  “Would Keldwyn lie about the time distortion?”

  “According to lore, the Fae don’t lie. They’re master word manipulators. Either way, we’re faced with an impossible choice, just as you said.” She sighed. “It begins again, Jacob. We must be queen and servant once more.”

  “Yes, my lady. Though you are always my Mistress. That never changes. Only the face of it does.”

  He knew something else about her that no one else did, except perhaps Mason. A thousand years gave her great wisdom, great strength. But it was also a long, long time to live. A long, long time to be a queen and endure loss and betrayal, to see death and hate resurrecting in her life, chal enging her over and over again. Thomas, her former servant, believed Jacob had come to her in three different lifetimes, whenever she was in greatest need of him.

  There were times Jacob thought the Delilah virus she’d barely survived had only been the catalyst of that rebirth, that the true danger to her was the unbearable weight of time.

  Other than the Delilah virus, the Ennui, a wasting and self-destructive apathy, was the only disease that could impact vampires. When they met, she’d dismissed the idea that Ennui would ever affect her.

  “I’ve seen things, Jacob. I’ve met Chinese dragons whose whiskers feel like feathers when they brush them across your face. I’ve seen wars begin and end. Seen people do so many things I didn’t expect, and many things I did expect, and dreaded.

  That is why the Ennui does not affect me . . . Life can be intensely amazing, or quietly desperate, as Thoreau said. If you wake each day with a genuine awareness which allows you to appreciate everything as if you were seeing it for the very first time . . . or the last.”

  But he also knew such a mental il ness could hit when a person’s defenses were low, and she’d taken so many emotional blows these past few years . . .

  You are worrying for me. You know I worry about nothing when you are at my side.

  “Yes, my lady.” He smiled against her skin.

  “Apparently, you don’t need a vampire’s ability to be able to read my mind.”

  “You rarely close your mind to me. Though you could do that anytime you wished now, as a vampire.”

  “But never as your servant.”

  “I think we are the most confusing relationship the vampire world has ever experienced. Certainly the most confusing one I’ve ever experienced.” That made him laugh outright, but he nodded toward two rose bushes. Bran lay between them, a look of sufferance on his face as Whiskers occupied the val ey between the dog’s shoulders in a neat bread loaf shape, purring. “There are other, far more confusing relationships, my lady. The world is a mysterious place.”

  4

  BASED on what Keldwyn had said about the dryad’s possible condition when freed, they’d told Ingram that, when they located her, they would be going straight from her tree to the nearest possible Fae portal. However, any hopes that might happen the first night, or even the second, came to naught.

  On the third night, after they sent their usual mental greeting to Kane upon his rising, and set out at dark to resume their search, Lyssa had only one comment.

  “When we final y find this dryad, I never want to see the underbel y of Atlanta again.” Jacob grunted. He was driving tonight, at the wheel of Lyssa’s Mercedes. They’d repeatedly gone through al the photos and information that John and Elijah had gathered, but it had narrowed things down little. “Stil a needle in a haystack,” he said, glancing at the handheld screen his lady was scrol ing through.

  “Ye of little faith,” she said. “While you were getting dressed, I was thinking. Keldwyn did give us some clues. A twenty-year-old tree, downtown, but not in a park. Surrounded by asphalt or concrete.”

  “Which narrows it down to a few thousand trees. A lot of businesses have trees in their landscaping.”

  “Only this tree wouldn’t fit the landscaping, not necessarily. She was trapped there, so wherever she froze, for lack of better word, it should stand out.

  And the lore says dryads favored certain types of trees. Oaks, hawthorne, rowan. But this is also a female dryad.” She studied the satel ite photo in her hand, but her mind wasn’t on it. “Son of a bitch.”

  “My lady?”

  She smiled, a bit grimly. “I think Keldwyn gave us another, quite significant clue. Have you ever known him to volunteer a story, like he did about the cradle?”

  “You mean when he was being an ass, tel ing us in a not-so-roundabout way that we don’t belong together?”

  “That was the distraction. Males think with their cocks far too often.” She teased his knee with her long fingernails. “I looked up the story. The tree was a wil ow.”

  Capturing her hand, he kissed it. “I defer to your estrogen-driven logic, my lady. And please tel me that narrows things down so we won’t be forced to endure Atlanta traffic one more night. Otherwise, tomorrow night we’re having Ingram drive and we’l put John in a sleeping bag in the limo. We’l cal it camping in style.”

  She consulted the handheld again. “There are about seven businesses and four medians we’ve not yet visited that might have trees that fit the description. I also have about thirty other possibilities, but those eleven are my first choices.”

  “Wel , read them out then, and we’l see what we

  can find.”

  None of the locations held the tree. Though they found several wil ows, when Lyssa laid her hand upon them, nothing happened other than the disruption of some ant trails along the trunk. They discussed the possibility that she might not have the power Keldwyn had intimated was necessary to release the spirit, but Jacob thought it more likely that they hadn’t found the tree. Something didn’t feel quite right about the ones they approached. His intuition, or what Lyssa cal ed his psychic sense or his precognition, was attuned to certain situations, and this was one of them. It was like radar, and he could tel practical y before they got out of their car each time that the targeted tree wasn’t the right one.

  However, since they’d never freed a dryad before, he didn’t dissuade Lyssa from touching each one, just to be sure.

  By three-thirty in the morning, they were running out of night, and trees that fit the parameters. “Now I’ve really seen far more of this section of the city than I ever wanted to see,” Lyssa commented, sitting on the car hood.

  Jacob handed her a coffee he’d bought from a convenience store and propped his hips next to her.

  The convenience store had a locked entrance and a pickup window, heavy bars on it and the doors.

  Graffiti was scrawled on the wal s of the buildings along the side street where they’d parked. Since their search had been limited to the lower-income area of downtown Atlanta, each night they’d gotten their share of sidelong, calculating looks from human predators, but direct stares from both male vampire and queen had made those gazes avert fairly quickly, the petty criminals recognizing far bigger threats.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Jacob said abruptly. “Hel , it’s worth a shot.”

  Straightening, he studied their surroundings, then turned, listening. His nostrils flared, taking in a scent.

  Lyssa watched that extraordinary stil ness settle over him, something that happened when a vampire was focusing al his senses, reaching out far beyond mortal abilities. It not only underscored the fact he was no longer ful y human, but how dangerous a predator he could be. She supposed it was one of those vagaries of female nature, that such a thing could stir her loins as wel as her blood. Picking up on it instantly, he gave her a sidelong glance. “A fine time to distract me, my lady,” he murmured. “And such an image. Right here on the hood?”

  “I trust you can enjoy the fantasy and exercise some self-control,” she returned evenly. “What are you about?”

  “When computers and garden clubs fail, there’s a better source of information, the kind that only a former drifter and vampire hunter would know.” He held out a hand. “Care to take a little walk with me?

  A female presence might be useful, even one as intimidating as yours.”

  “As long as I can bring my coffee.”

  “I wouldn’t be brave enough to pry it from you, my lady.”

  She gave him a narrow look, but slipped her fingers in the crook of his arm, letting him escort her down the side street. Despite his teasing, he liked seeing her enjoy the coffee. Since becoming more Fae than vampire, she’d been able to actual y eat, versus frugal sampling. Though his reserved lady would never be accused of gluttony, she had discovered some things were more addictive than others.

  One night, on an earlier trip to Atlanta, she’d made herself sick on a one-pound box of buttercream chocolates she’d polished off herself. She’d been curled up in her favorite chair, reading. With Kane sleeping in a nest of pil ows nearby, he’d stretched out on his stomach on the floor with his latest batch of comics, featuring new episodes of The Losers and Iron Man. He’d been close enough that she could rest her dainty feet on his backside, her preferred footstool so she could knead him with her toes like a satisfied feline. Whiskers had curled up in the smal of his back, Bran lying to the left of his lady’s chair.

  Jacob had been vaguely aware of the crinkle of the box liner as she reached for each chocolate, but neither of them had tracked how many she was eating until her fingers felt their way over the foil of an empty box. Later that evening, he’d held her hair back from her face as she threw up. He’d found it a tender experience, no matter how annoyed she’d been with him for feeling that way. After her stomach had settled down, for the next few nights her blood had possessed a delightful y sweet taste.

  Since then, she’d been able to exercise a little more control, but he liked seeing her indulge in such pleasures, like her penchant for coffee. Now he squeezed her hand, seeing the corner of her pretty mouth twitch at the memories he was giving her.

  He took her down several smal er, less wel -paved streets, until they were moving in dank, poorly lit al eys between buildings. There they found Dumpsters, more graffiti, the smel of garbage and unwashed humans. Several of them. Jacob stopped, listening again.

  Lyssa realized they were being watched, but stayed silent, knowing he was aware of it as wel .

  “I’m not going to hurt anyone, I promise.” He raised his voice. “I need information. Whether you can help me or not, I’l pay you for your time and honesty.” Silence. Giving Lyssa’s hand a squeeze, Jacob moved forward, nodding toward his target on the far side of the Dumpster. She answered with a shift of her body, showing she’d located the other two and had his back.

  A tiny growl became a whimper, a dog struggling to make a noise against the hand clamped around the snout. Jacob dropped to a squat from his six-foot height, within a couple paces of the shadowed corner the Dumpster provided. He tented his fingers on the pavement, despite the questionable debris beneath them. “I won’t hurt you, ma’am. Al right? I’m looking for something, and if you’ve lived down here awhile, I think you’l know where it is. You probably see things a lot of people don’t.”

  There was the sound of newspaper being crumpled by movement, and Lyssa saw a shift in those shadows. However, she left that one to Jacob, turning to face the two men who stepped out of the gloom on the other side of the Dumpster. They appeared to be about Ingram’s age. Both were dressed in worn, layered clothing of dul colors. Their unshaven, thin faces and unkempt hair beneath grimy bil caps, the watchful, not entirely stable expressions, were the signature of the career urban homeless. One held a metal pipe, the other a length of board with nails stuck through the end, a crude mace. “Leave Essie alone,” the one with the pipe said in a voice roughened by outdoor living and smoker’s cough. “Don’t no one ever come down here in the middle of the night who don’t mean trouble.”

  “Wel , now someone has,” Lyssa said, holding him in her gaze. “We’re seeking a tree. A very special tree.”

  Whatever they’d been expecting, it was obviously not that. As they exchanged a look, she extended the coffee. “I’ve only taken a little. Would you like the rest?”

  “I don’t sleep when I drink coffee. Pete’l take it though. He drinks it like a fish.” Pipe Guy jerked his head at the other man.

  Lyssa stepped closer, aware of Jacob’s careful attention on them and Pete’s tight hold on that lifted board. However, she stepped inside its range without fear. With or without vampire intuition, she had a pretty good grasp of human motives. She kept her gaze on Pete’s, not in chal enge, but to show him her intentions. As he warily took the cup from her, she noted the cracked skin on his knuckles.

  A creak of metal made her glance right. The woman Jacob had addressed was hobbling into the dim light with the help of a rusty shopping cart. She was much older than the men, perhaps in her seventies, or perhaps the elements were harsher on a woman’s thinner skin. Whatever story had put the men on the streets, this woman was here due to mental disorder. It was in the furtive way she looked at them as she muttered to herself and the little dog.

  Lyssa suspected schizophrenia that had dovetailed into dementia as she got older, exacerbated by poor nutrition. Fear emanated from her, but also a bel igerent streak of independence that had her clutching the smal mixed-breed dog and jutting her chin at Jacob.

  “You won’t make me tel you nothing. I know about your kind. What you want, what you see. You won’t get into my head.”

  Jacob had worn a light jacket over his T-shirt and jeans. It covered the nine-mil imeter and six-inch army knife he carried, along with a couple very wel -

  sharpened stakes. He was vampire, but he never stopped having the mind-set of a vampire hunter, and he went nowhere with Lyssa where he wasn’t armed. But in this instance, he was carrying something more effective, something he’d picked up at the convenience store. Fishing them out of his pockets under Essie’s suspicious stare, he extended the chocolate bar and pack of peanut butter crackers, one of his favorite personal combinations before he’d become a vampire. He’d probably intended to have a taste and then offer the rest to Lyssa.

  Throughout the centuries, Lyssa had seen unimaginable poverty and deprivation. As awful as it was, homelessness in twenty-first-century Atlanta was nowhere as bad as it could get for a human being. But it stil stirred her pity, to see such shadowdwel ers, lost to the world through their own madness or other trauma and circumstances they couldn’t or wouldn’t resolve. The woman she was looking at had been on the streets for a long time.

  Over that time, she’d probably been raped, beaten, her belongings stolen again and again.