Control. Keep control.

"Now, Officer Henebry-" No, such an address was too awkward, too formal for what he had in mind. "What's your first name?"

She glared at him. Scared as she must be, she was also mad as hell.

He asked the same question again, this time using her gun for emphasis.

"Kath," she spat out. "Kath Henebry."

"That's lovely. Suits you very well."

"Listen, mister-"

"I think not. You must listen to me, Kath. What I have to say is very important; you need to hear every word. Are you listening, Kath Henebry?" He looked her hard in the eye. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them when she did not answer. "Are you?" he asked, his tone softer, more seductive.

"I hear you." She practically sighed out her reply. There was a definite blush on her face, but he wasn't sure if it was because of him or a product of her anger.

He continued to look hard at her, but spoke mild, soothing words, and almost imperceptibly she slipped under his sway. Her eyes glazed slightly, and her breathing became even. Richard reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair under her hat. That done, he stepped back, holding to the car to keep his balance. The effort had taken a lot out of him.

She remained in place, staring at the empty fields. Excellent. He held the heavy firearm out to her.

"I want you to put the gun away and not move until I tell you to."

The only sound was the smart snap of plastic against leather as she obeyed. She continued to stare, a wonderfully serene expression on her face. "Thank you." He quickly checked on Michael who was as he'd left him, belted in the back seat, still unresponsive.

Mindful or not of the world around him, he certainly did not need to see what was about to happen.

Richard turned back to Officer Henebry and reestablished their connection. "Come around here with me, Kath, there is something we have to do. It will not be unpleasant for either of us."

He took her hand. It was very small in his, freshly manicured and warm. He lifted it in his and brushed his lips against it. She smelled of roses, and he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Her veins lay pale blue under the skin, and in the silence, he could hear her heart fluttering.

The stimulus had its welcome effect. The sickness, the aches of his body, fled for the moment as deep in his gut, his groin, he felt his need for her. It was more intense than usual. He would have to be careful and take her now while what self-control he possessed was still in place. Gently, he led her around so that her patrol car lay protectively between them and the road. This was a very open place, and he did not want to be disturbed by any passing motorist.

He glanced quickly both ways, but everything was clear.

Kath stood facing him, mouth slightly open, lips moist. She wore lipstick, and Richard idly wondered if that was allowed on duty. He took off her hat. Her shining brown hair was curled up in a knot. How lovely it would be to take it down and twine between his fingers...

Steady on.

"Roll up your sleeve."

She obeyed.

"Now hold out your arm."

This she did too, and Richard moved closer. He knew what he looked like at this moment, and was glad she had no conscious perception of it. His eyes were red, wolflike, and his teeth long and razor sharp. A low growl, pure animal, rose from him, and his beast impatiently stirred as Richard braced her against the car.

He took her arm in his hand, and brought it up to his mouth. The scent of roses was heavy at the wrist, then diminished as he moved along toward the elbow. His sense of smell was heightened, and the fragrance almost brought water to his eyes, it seemed so potent. He slid his other arm around her waist, and despite his best efforts at self- restraint, pressed himself roughly upon her, feeling the firm length of her body with his. He ran his tongue slowly along her neck, tasting her, feeling the veins there throbbing so quickly. Ah, if only he had more time and was not in such sore need. He would have to forgo this sweet contact in favor of one less dangerous to her.

He bowed his head down, and bit into the soft skin on the inside of her elbow. His teeth cut through the flesh easily, and the blood flowed strong into him, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

He sucked hungrily, hardening, pushing himself urgently against her. Her head fell back and, loosened in the moment, her hair cascaded down. To Richard, it smelled of heaven. He caressed her, feeling the fine texture of her hair, the smoothness of her temple, her cheek. Her mouth opened as his fingers brushed over her lips and a low moan escaped her.

He wanted this to go on and on as he had all those years ago with the servant in Sabra's tent, that first time. More than that, he wanted this woman, wanted to be inside her, to be one with her. Kath's heart beat faster-he could hear it-and her breath came in small gasps. Her breasts pushed hard against him, and he could now smell her musk, heavy in the air with her own arousal.

He supped heavily and well on her strength, her sweetness, her very spirit. If he could not be in her, then she must surely be in him. He felt the rush of her vitality flooding his own veins and welcomed it, reveled in it.

But he had to stop. It would cost Kath her life if he did not. So he pulled back, reluctantly kissing away the remaining traces of blood, eyes closed as he savored the last shreds of ecstasy. He could feel it coursing through him, healing and reviving as it went. He had fed enough to last until he got home.

After a few moments he came back to himself. He lifted her face to his and kissed her long and deep. Then, looking her in the eye, he told her what he always told his partners. She'd been to a blood donation center and would feel a little light-headed for the next day or two. He always carried adhesive bandages in his back pocket for just such occasions, and by some miracle they were yet clean in their wrappings. He taped them over the small puncture marks he'd left, rolled her sleeve down, and fastened the cuff.

"You will remember nothing of what has happened here," he whispered in her ear. "I will remember nothing," she obligingly confirmed.

Then Richard leaned forward and whispered once more, getting rather detailed. Kath immediately went to her patrol car, and in a very short time he had the highly incriminating surveillance tape in hand. Officer Henebry would simply report that by some mistake the recorder had not been loaded prior to her patrol that night.

"Your hat..." He gave it to her.

After a quick rearrangement of her tumbled hair, she replaced her visored cap squarely on her head. "Thank you."

"It truly was a pleasure," he replied, quite sincere.

She threw the car into gear and sped off, executing a smart U-turn and accelerating back in the direction Richard had come from. As she passed, she waved, and Richard heard a long throaty laugh as she disappeared down the road.

Yes, it had been an enjoyable experience for them both.

In the distance, her siren started its ominous howl. She would get to what was left of the house and start the whole process of investigation. She wouldn't remember how she'd gotten there or why, but those explanations were her problem, not his. He must be on his way. Her fresh blood had improved his state; the dizziness and cramping had cleared, and his vision, though not steady, was better than it had been. But he was still far from well.

He retrieved his wallet and license from where they'd fallen forgotten on the road shoulder. With some chagrin he noticed her clipboard with its attached paperwork still on his hood. Yet another mystery for the good officer to ponder.

Just as well for him to have the thing: she'd recorded his tag numbers. He tossed it on the passenger seat with his drover's coat and hat. There would likely be some record of them with the dispatcher when Kath first called in her stop, but without the car tape and clipboard as support there was a chance the minor mystery would be dismissed. He'd covered that as well while filling her head with instructions. After all, so far as she was concerned, she'd never even seen him, and in less than an hour the police would have far more important matters demanding their attention.

Once inside again he checked on Michael. His head drooped and his eyes were closed; he seemed to be sleeping.

Hopefully that was a good sign. There was no point disturbing him. Snapping his seat belt, Richard started the car and pushed it into gear. The sooner home, the better. The last thing he wanted was to be caught out in daylight.

He could sense the sun dragging itself toward the horizon, the sky changing from black to dark blue; the night all but gone.

The rest of the journey proved uneventful, and he was glad for small favors. Driving almost lulled Richard to sleep again, but he came fully awake in time to swoop under the amber lights marking Midway Road. He hurried past gas stations, shopping centers, and light industry, past a restaurant row and office buildings toward the distinctive shape of New Karnak.

Engulfed in its welcoming shadow, he hastened into the underground parking lot. His space next to the elevator was empty, as it should be, and he slipped in and killed the motor. The silence after it died was disconcerting after the long drive. He listened with all his preternatural ability to detect if there was anyone else about at this too-early hour of the morning. He preferred not to have witnesses and thankfully none were apparent.

Getting out, he opened the rear door and reached in. Michael did not wake, and Richard lifted him easily. He'd forgotten how light children were. Holding the boy protectively close, he kicked the door shut and headed for the elevator.

The soft hum of its ascent was comforting, signifying the end of his journey. He leaned back against the wall, tired to the bone, yearning for sleep. The car rode upward uninterrupted to his apartment, stopped with its customary subtlety, and Richard stepped out. The doors closed behind him, the car automatically plummeting back to the garage level. He carried the boy to the master bedroom in the back of the big flat.

Except for spare clothing and some framed photographs, he kept few items of any meaning to himself here. Having been professionally decorated, it was rather like a luxury hotel suite possessing all the basics-and those being of the finest quality-but ultimately impersonal. Still, there was a soothing quality to such surroundings. Passing a mirrored wall on the way, the only chaos Richard perceived in the beautifully coordinated calm was himself and the ragged, dirty little boy in his arms. Scarecrows, the both of them. He turned away, not liking what he glimpsed in his own face.

In the master bedroom Richard turned down the coverlet and sheets with one sweep of his arm, and laid Michael down. The boy did not wake, and his breathing continued normally. Oh, to know that kind of utterly abandoned sleep again. Richard took off the child's shoes and socks, and decided to wait a bit on the rest. Except for some minor scratches on his arms and legs-which Richard knew had come from the flight through the thorny mesquite scrub-he appeared physically unharmed.

There was no measuring the depth of damage done to his mind and spirit, though.

Looking down at Michael's sleeping form, the stresses of the night started to rush at Richard, demanding attention, but he pushed them back. He was in no state to cope with them now. He bent to kiss the boy lightly on the forehead and dragged the covers over him.

Straightening, Richard found the room swaying in a too-familiar manner. The strength he'd taken from Kath Henebry's blood was nearly spent. He needed more. Thank the Goddess for the supply he'd obtained from Dr. Sam, sitting cool in his refrigerator.

He drank down two entire bags before he felt anywhere near to normal again. Their boost gave him enough momentum to strip and stand under a scalding shower. He put it on maximum pressure until the supply in the water heater gave out, then stood dripping before the mirror in the bright light of the bathroom. He again glimpsed the expression on his face, this time able to confront it, to stare himself down. After awhile, its corpselike aspect faded to the less alarming mundanity of simple exhaustion. He took stock of what remained.

The worst of his wounds had completely closed up, though the scars were red and sore. They would soon fade.

They always did. Only those he'd achieved before his change remained, like the sword cut on his shoulder that had nearly killed him, and the one where his ring finger had been severed then restored.

The angry raised blisters left by the fire ants had subsided, and the aching pain in his body had eased, but he was not fully recovered. He wanted sleep, and could see no reason for putting it off. He would need all his energy for what was to come.

Wrapped in the loose ease of an oversized terry robe, he made a quick round of the flat. His prime concern was being sure the doors were secure and that the metal blinds over the windows were sealed shut to block out the day. He lay on a sofa in the gentle darkness of the bedroom so as to be close should Michael wake.

Richard shut his eyes, waiting, hoping fatigue would allow him swift oblivion. Hoping he would be spared further dreams. Further nightmares.

Somewhere in that strange place between waking and slumber he realized that the worst was not yet over.

Bourland would have to know. How would he tell him?

The vision of Michael's experience placed the time of their deaths in the early morning. Richard had been on the plane then. There was no way he could have arrived in time to prevent any of it.

Cold comfort, that.

Icy cold.

Chapter Seven

Britain, the Beginning, Five Years Later

"King's Champion indeed," said Elaine, rousing from her doze. "I think you've ridden more oft for me."

Richard smiled and shifted his weight from her. "And you've ridden me enough to be the Queen's Champion."

She chuckled softly, moving so he could lie on his back with her cradled in his arms across his chest. Hers was a virgin's narrow bed, but he had no complaint for the warm closeness of it. "The queen would not be pleased to hear that," she said. "All the court knows she loves you."

"But no more than the court does itself," he countered, well aware of his own popularity. "I do not seek her favor."

"Yet she would give her heart to thee as easily as I have, as would the other maids and dames."

" 'Tis none of mine what they would do. Why speak of it?"

"Because, sweet Lancelot, it is my greatest pleasure to know that above all those others I am the one you chose to bed."

In reply Richard brushed his lips against her temple, and kept the truth to himself of just how many of those ladies he'd bedded in the years since his arrival at court. He'd been discreet about his various liaisons, so much so that many thought him more chaste than a monk. For some reason, this distinction made the women all the more fascinated with him.

Elaine was as unaware of his many mistresses as they were of each other. A delicate juggling act, but Richard managed it quite well, perhaps too well. Though a dear girl, Elaine possessed dreams for him of a future with her he could never fulfill. Already she had been hinting about his speaking to her father for her hand as though it was an inevitability.

"In my memory," he finally said, "it was you who chose me."

"What matters so long as we are together?" She sighed with vast contentment, burrowing snugly against him.

"What matters so long as it lasts forever?"

That she spoke thus told him he would have to soon conclude things with her. He'd heard such from other girls when he walked in the sun, and with no small chagrin knew it would be so with future lovers. Why did some of them have to make a simple union so much more than it was? Even when they professed their understanding that a tryst was to be no more than a satisfying of mutual desire, they would change their minds afterward. Sabra had troubled to explain all the reasons to him. Several times. Still he was mystified. Sometimes it was just easier to simply pay for a woman's favors-and the blood that he took-than to deal with the complexities of mutual seduction.

He would have to soon supplant his will over Elaine's wishes and make her forget about their stolen nights together. Or at least persuade her from this dream of marrying him. That could never be, and the sooner she accepted it, the better for them both.

Not tonight, though. They'd enjoyed each other thoroughly here in her chamber in her father's keep; no need to vitiate the current good feeling with base practicalities. Richard had gone to some effort to gain entry, hoisting himself up the timbered sides of the building-his vampire's strength making the task easy-to climb through her window.

Elaine had enthusiastically welcomed him for some months now, prettily delighting in their secret sport as though she'd never known its like. Well, she'd never known Richard's like, that was a surety.

She slept still in a virgin's bed, but had probably not slept as a virgin since her first moon as a young woman; her skills in love were too certain for him to believe her claim that he alone had received her maidenhead. The only blood he'd seen from her was that which he'd taken from her veins when they loved. As with the others he fed from, he was ever careful to remove that from their recollections. Other memories and intents required more effort and care.

But still... Elaine was such a lovely girl, fair of face and with a lushness and grace of form as to stir a statue to life.

Even now he felt a decided stirring within from the thought alone... Enough. He would soon have to bring this intimacy to a close before anyone found them out. Elaine herself might let something slip-more likely on purpose than by accident-in an attempt to achieve her fantasy of marriage. Her father would be annoyed at her seeming deflowering by Lancelot, but not so much as to deny himself the status of having the king's rich champion for a son-in-law.

Elaine reached across to the little table by the bed. Richard thought she might thirst, but instead of taking the wine cup, she picked up a small crockery jar.

"What's this?" he asked as she settled back again.

Her bright eyes danced with mischief. "A love potion."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. An old wife at the tourney fair told me that no man could withstand its power."

"And so you wish to test it on me?"

"Indeed. If it gives you no pleasure, then I will know her for a liar."

"Am I to drink it then?"

"Only from my lips." She sipped a little from the jar, then placed her mouth over his. On her tongue he tasted honey and cloves and other rare flavors before she drew away. "Is it working? Are you in love with me yet?"

There was no harm in playing along with her new game. He could always change things later. "I'm not sure.