"I'm looking for something." A small, gold metallic gleam caught her eye. It was the piece of hairpin that had bent in the lock earlier. She darted forward to pick it up and examine it.

The small slender piece had bent so sharply in the middle, it was almost at a ninety-degree angle. The hairpins were made out of cheap, soft metal, and she knew from experience that if she tried to bend it back into place, it would probably break.

Still, there might come a use for it. She slipped it into her hand and made a fist with one end of the pin poking between two fingers. If nothing else, it could add some damage if she threw a punch. If she aimed well enough, she could even possibly put out an eye with it.

Shoving it into her pocket, she turned her attention to the cell door, stuck the end of the flashlight between her teeth and pulled out her makeshift lock picks.

"What on earth are you doing now?" He sounded as grumpy as a bear with a sore head.

"I'm coming to rescue you, so you might want to dial your rudeness down a notch or two."

When the lock turned, she opened the door of her cell and walked out.

As Julian watched Melly pick the lock on his cell door, his emotions were almost indescribable. Not only was she alive, which was a miracle all on it's own, but she also looked relatively unscathed.

The cut on her neck had already crusted over. Her face was smudged with either dirt or bruises, and there were more bruises on the tawny skin of her arms. Something or someone had raked her forearm, but it looked like the wounds had scabbed over. That was all the damage he could detect. She even sounded more or less calm.

She had pulled her tangled hair back into a braid. He had almost forgotten how she could do that. Her hair was curly enough that it could stay in a braid without a tie for at least an hour, if it wasn't disturbed, but when they had been together, he had rarely been able to leave her alone for long enough to let that happen.

The relief that overcame him was more intense than any other emotion he had felt in a very long time. He said hoarsely, "What are you using to pick the locks?"

She spoke around the butt of the flashlight she held between her teeth, and while the words were a bit distorted, they were also easily understandable. "Pieces of a hairpin."

A rusty, ragged sound came out of him like a cough, making the open wounds all over his body throb. With surprise, he recognized the sound. It was a laugh. "That might be the first mistake Justine has made since she took you."

Melly glanced at him, large eyes flashing, and then she focused on her work again. "Well, she got most of them, but they weren't handling me all that gently at the time, and a few slipped into my bra." She raised her eyebrows, and somehow, despite the flashlight between her teeth, managed to look quite regal. "I chose not to inform them of that fact."

They had manhandled her. Rage exploded in a supernova, but he didn't have the reserves to sustain it. As fast as it hit, it dissipated into a dull red glow. "Like I said, stupid of them."

She finished picking the lock, and pushed the door open while she took the flashlight out of her mouth. "I find it useful when people underestimate me."

Exhausted and in pain, he closed his eyes to avoid looking at her as she walked toward him. Disheveled as she was, she looked too beautiful, and his insides were in a riotous mess. Gladness, relief and anger the old anger at Melly, and the new, hot rage at Justine and something else that lay twisted into a knot deep in his heart. He chose not to examine that last bit too closely.

"Not a mistake I'd ever make with you," he heard himself saying. "I'd have done a body cavity search."

"Same old suave Julian. I never know when you're flirting." Her reply was acerbic, but her hands were gentle as she touched the wounds on his chest. Her intake of breath was all too audible in the dense silence. When she spoke next, her voice had turned small and tense. "Gods. They didn't just bite you. They tore at you, and you haven't healed."

"Too much blood loss," he muttered.

"Here." Something warm and soft nudged his lips. It smelled like her.

He opened his eyes.

She held her wrist to his mouth, her expression warm and concerned. While she was tall for a woman, because of the difference in their heights, she had to stand very close to him to hold her arm up at the correct angle to reach his mouth.

He could feel the heat from her body against his bruised and torn skin, and her scent twined around him in an invisible embrace.

He hadn't been so physically close to her since the last time they were together. Always afterward, whenever they had to see and interact with each other in public, he had kept at least a few feet of distance between them.

The sight, scent and sensation of her closeness pierced through him, right into the tangled knot lying deep in his heart. Sharp, raw pain flared up, as bewildered and jagged as it had been the day he had been given evidence of her infidelity, incontrovertible evidence that made a lie of every sincere-seeming glance from her, every affectionate gesture or quietly whispered words of love.

Reflexively he jerked his head away.

Silence stretched taut between them, so heavy and complete he could count the beats of her heart.

She said in a tight, brittle voice, "You have to feed, even if it's from me. If you don't, you won't heal. You'll stay weak, and that won't get either of us out of here."

He looked at her. Her expression had turned pinched, and her eyes glittered.

Much as he didn't want to bite her, she was right. "You startled me, that's all," he growled. "Come on, let's get it over with."

The curve of her full mouth drew tight, but she held her wrist up to his mouth again.

He didn't want to drink. He didn't want to need her in any way. Reluctantly, he forced his fangs to descend.

No matter how he tried, he could never let go of his anger at her. He could forget about it, sometimes for months at a time, but whenever he was confronted with the reality of her again, it all surged back in a hot, violent whirlpool that swept over his mind and clouded his thinking. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever be able to let it go. He was a mean, unforgiving bastard at the best of times.

But as angry as he was, he couldn't strike at her. Instead, he put his mouth against the tender flesh of her inner wrist and eased into the bite as gently as he could. As his fangs pierced her delicate skin, her fingers curled tight and the tiny intake of breath was clearly audible in the tomb-like silence.

Instinctively he paused, giving her the chance to adjust to the bite. There was etiquette to this sort of thing. At first the pain would be sharp, like an IV needle, but the properties in his saliva would ease that away within moments. Civilized Vampyres only began to draw from a bite once their participant began to feel pleasure.

In pain and as depleted as he was, he adamantly refused to allow Justine's abuses to drive him into behaving like the animals that had fed from him. So he waited until her fingers relaxed, unfurling like shy, slender flower petals. Only then did he begin to suck.

The rich, warm tang of her blood flowed into his mouth.

Good Christ. He had thought he'd braced himself for the impact of her taste, but he hadn't. He couldn't. There was no way to brace for this.

Like the differences between types of wine and different wineries, each person's blood carried a taste that was unique to them.

Nothing else in the entire world tasted like Melisande. Nothing.

Before he had become a Vampyre, he had lived a rugged life in the Roman army. He had been almost constantly outdoors in all types of weather, yet that brief human experience had occurred two thousand years ago.

He had long since forgotten what warm sunlight felt like on his face, yet the warmth in Melly's blood reminded him. Like her smile, it was infectious. It stole into him and pushed back the icy darkness that had begun to take him over.

Her blood was unbelievably rich with the magic that came with her heritage, along with an ability she had never bothered to cultivate. She had never cared about any inherent magical talent and preferred to explore her other talents and attributes, but he could taste all of it on his tongue.

She tasted like home and hot sex, like laughter and intimacy.

She tasted like realization.

Before her, he hadn't known that he had been slowly expiring of thirst over the centuries. No matter how many people he tasted or how many lovers he had taken, he had been dying inside. Dying. Then she had lit everything up inside of him only to snatch it all away again, leaving him bereft and alone as he approached the midnight of his life.

As he drew on her, he made a sound at the back of his throat, and she echoed it softly. Endorphins flooded her blood, and as he drank, her pleasure became his.

It was every bit as powerful as the first time the night of the Masque, when he had taken what a tipsy, mischievous goddess had offered him. The same kind of shock, the same intensity of connection.

Memory became entwined with the present.

Then, at the Masque, her breath had hissed in a sexy little catch, and she swayed as he sucked so gently at her delicate skin. Still feeding and hungry to feel her curvaceous body against his, he pulled her into his arms, and she came readily to nestle against him, the curve of her pelvis rubbing against his erection. Astonished intoxication bolted through him.

Her arousal fed his arousal, and his fed hers. The silken material of her white halter dress slipped under his calloused fingers, and when he forced himself to pull away from her wrist, he stared beyond the golden, elegant mask of a lioness into her wide, dilated green eyes and knew that his life would never be the same.

Now, the gift she gave him was necessary for life, and yet somehow crueler than any wound the ferals had inflicted on him. The Power in her blood slammed into him, and if he hadn't been chained in place, he might have fallen.

His body and his soul were so parched. He never knew he could be so hungry for another person physically, emotionally hungry and it had nothing to do with him drinking her blood and everything to do with how he needed to climb on top of her, sink into her soft, welcoming body, and feel her legs clasp him around his hips in welcome just like she used to.

Physically, strength and vitality flowed into him. His wounds closed over and healed seamlessly. Like that first time at the Masque, he needed to put his arms around her, but couldn't. Frustrated, he moved restlessly as much as his chains would allow.

She made another sound that was purely sexual, husky and needy, and the warmth of her body nestled against him. The soft curve of her breasts pressed against his bare chest, and her hips brushed against his painfully hardened cock.

Her heart rate picked up. He could taste her arousal on his tongue, scent it on the air.

The ravenous hunter in him took fierce note. All the signs were there. She could be his for the taking, all his again.

At least for a while, until their separate lifestyles pulled them apart.

Or until she chose to cheat again.

Six.

T.

he thought made him recoil from her wrist. His chest moved, distracting him. Belatedly he realized he was breathing hard. Like all of his tangled emotions, it was an exercise in futility. Inwardly cursing, he made himself stop.

Melly lifted her head from his shoulder. Compulsively, he ran his gaze down her body. Her eyes were dazed, and her golden skin flushed with pleasure and arousal. He could just see a hint of the full curve of her breasts in the V-neck of her top, and his mouth watered as he thought of how he used to tongue her plump, erect nipples.

"Why did you stop? You didn't take nearly enough." She ran her tongue along her lower lip, moistening it and he couldn't help but track the movement.

Feeling more trapped than ever and wild to get away from her, he snapped, "I took enough to heal. Get off of me."

Her eyes widened. Flushing darkly, she jerked away and put her back to him.

"I I wasn't aware of what I was doing," she muttered. Raising her hand, she pushed her hair off her forehead.

Twin trickles of blood ran down her slender forearm, intersecting her scabbed-over wounds. He hadn't taken the time with her that he should have to ensure she didn't continue to bleed after his bite.

Remorse struck, and he didn't welcome it. Reluctantly, he said, "I shouldn't have pulled away like that. You're still bleeding. Give me your wrist again, and I'll make it stop."

Now she was the one to recoil. "After your gracious attitude?" she snapped. "Not on your life."

Increased noise penetrated his awareness. The Vampyres, down by the gate, were snarling.

"Don't be stupid, Melly," he growled. "Can't you hear them? The ferals down by the gate can scent your fresh blood. It will make them even more focused on you as their prey."

Shoulders slumping, she tilted her head back and looked up at the shadowed ceiling of his cell. Then she pivoted to fix him with a narrowed, glittering gaze.

"I swear to all the gods," she said between her teeth. "If you say 'don't be stupid' to me one more time, I'm going to start using you as a punching bag. Because I've had a really rotten couple of days, and if you think I'm going to feel bad that you're chained up and can't do anything to stop me, you'd better think again, soldier. So you'd better rein in your asshole tendencies, because I'm in the mood to say hello, opportunity. You've been a long time coming."

Once he had liked it when she had called him "soldier." Halfway through her speech, he realized he was still hard as a rock and aching to bury himself in her. It infuriated him beyond all reason.

"Let's talk about stupid and those rotten days you've had," he snapped. "What did Justine do, show up on your doorstep out of the blue, wearing a big, friendly smile? And what did you do, Melisande greet her with open arms and invite her in for a little girl talk? Are you really that naive?"

She blinked rapidly several times, and he saw that he had hit a nerve. Raising her hand, palm up, she crooked a couple of her fingers at him in a beckoning gesture. "Or feel free to go ahead and keep those sarcastic comments coming. Because it makes so much sense to piss off the chick with the lock pick. And besides, look who's talking about stupid and look at where he's standing right now."

He had to focus on something besides her beautiful, angry face.

If it were possible for him to break free of his restraints, he would have done so already when the ferals had attacked him. Even so, because he couldn't bear to stand still without trying to do something, he spread his legs as wide as he could and strained against the chains imprisoning his wrists overhead.

As he fought to break free, he said between his teeth, "If I hadn't done what I did, she would have slit your throat and drained you dry while I watched." Glaring at her, he snarled, "Not that I'll get any thanks from you for doing it."

Folding her arms across her chest, she glared back. "She was playing you like a master musician with a tiny violin. You don't know that she would have slit my throat. She made it quite clear I'm a useful bargaining chip for more than one reason. Giving in to her demands wasn't just stupid of you it was downright suicidal."

Instead of bothering to answer her, he heaved at the restraints again. While his joints popped audibly, the fastening in the ceiling never shifted. The restraints had been constructed with a Vampyre's strength in mind.

After watching him for a moment, Melly strode toward him. "Stop that. Julian, stop. You're tearing your wrists open for no good reason."

He grunted, "It's better than standing here and doing fuck all while you bitch at me."

When he glanced at her, she set the flashlight on the floor, angling the beam of light toward his right ankle, and knelt at his feet. "Well, you'd better not bring the whole thing down on my head. For God's sake, hold still, will you?"

The sight of her kneeling at his feet brought other erotic memories to mind, her sexy lips and tongue working on him as he pumped into her, fists buried in her hair. She had loved it when he fucked her mouth.

He had loved it too, had loved watching her enjoy what they had done more than his own pleasure. Orgasming was too simple a term for how he had felt at the time, but making love felt transcendent.

Had she been acting for any of it? How much of her pleasure had been real?

The brutal fact was, he would never know for sure. She could not only talk up a bitch when she wanted, but she could lie about virtually anything like it was the Gospel truth.

It was one of her strongest talents, and one of the reasons why she was such a popular actress. Not only did the camera love everything about her, but she could also convince audiences all over the world that she really had cared about the gigantic ape that had kidnapped her and climbed the Empire State Building, and she could sell zombies like they were the only true apocalypse.

Once they had laughed about that together.