"If you wish."

With a swift motion he bent downward to brush his lips over her forehead before pulling back and moving discreetly away. She resisted the urge to touch the tingling skin, instead attempting to smooth her countenance to the calm composure she had once found so very easy.

It would not do to appear like a giddy schoolgirl in the first throes of love.

It was scandalous enough to be discovered with a gentleman in her sitting room at such an hour.

Squaring her shoulders, Jocelyn was prepared as the burly gentleman entered the room, clutching his hat in his hands. His shrewd gaze briefly rested upon the silent stranger near the empty fireplace before he was offering Jocelyn a small bow.

"Ah, Miss Kingly, forgive me for intruding once again. And at such a late hour."

She managed a small smile. "Not at all. May I introduce you to Mr. Valin? Mr. Valin, this is Mr. Ryan. He is from Bow Street."

The two gentlemen shared a long, silent gaze before the Runner was giving a nod of his head.

"A pleasure, Mr. Valin."

"Mr. Ryan," Lucien murmured.

"Would you care for tea?" Jocelyn politely offered. "Or perhaps you would prefer brandy?"

"Nothing, I thank you. I will not intrude long."

"Do you have word of Molly's killer?" she hopefully prompted, not at all surprised when he gave a regretful shake of his head.

"I fear not. Despite my numerous nights upon the streets, there does not appear to be anyone willing to admit they were acquainted with Molly or if they noted her upon that specific evening."

Jocelyn knew his words were a gross understatement. Those of the streets were wary of strangers. Any stranger. And if they suspected that Mr. Ryan was a member of Bow Street, they would be as likely to slit his throat as to confess to any knowledge of crimes in the neighborhood.

"No, I do not suppose they would," she murmured in sympathy. "Most have their own secrets to hide."

The large man gave a nod of his head. "As you say."

"Then, what is it you desire of me?"

There was a faint pause before Mr. Ryan grimaced. "There have been two more prost.i.tutes discovered murdered since Molly's death."

Jocelyn stared at him in stunned disbelief. "Two more?"

"One was discovered floating in the river; the other was left not far from here."

She pressed a hand to her twisted stomach. Had the world gone mad? Who would harm such helpless women? They had nothing to steal. They did not hurt others. They simply were attempting to survive in a harsh world that offered them nothing.

It was all so horribly, wretchedly unfair.

"Dear heavens," she whispered, her heart clenching with pain.

With a silent swiftness Lucien was at her side, his hand coming to rest upon her lower back in a gesture of unspoken sympathy.

"What does this have to do with Miss Kingly?" he demanded of the Runner.

The pleasant features hardened with a surprisingly grim expression. "The last victim had a ribbon tied about her neck with a note that was written to Miss Kingly."

Jocelyn sucked in a shocked breath. "To me?"

"That is what I presume." He gave a lift of one large hand. "It had your name and the words 'the necklace or death' scrawled upon the paper."

Just for a moment she thought she might be physically ill. The dark evil that was stalking her was becoming horribly, horribly tangible. Not only from those strange men who had broken into her bedchamber, but with Molly's murder and now the other poor victims.

She unconsciously reached up to grasp the amulet that lay against her skin.

"I... this makes no sense. Why would anyone desire my necklace? It possesses no value."

She thought that Lucien stiffened at her side, but her attention remained upon the frowning Runner.

"Are you certain?" Mr. Ryan demanded.

"No more so than any other bit of gold."

"Has anyone approached you and admired the necklace, or wished to borrow it?"

She paused, briefly considering the men who had broken into her home. They had said something of the necklace, had they not? And there had been those odd dreams of the old gypsy woman warning her to protect the amulet.

Then she gave a small shake of her head. The Runner would think her mad if she began babbling of odd intruders and gypsy dreams. She wasn't certain that she entirely believed the strange happenings herself.

"No," she at last muttered.

Mr. Ryan heaved a weary sigh. "A pity. I had hoped you might have some knowledge of who might be stalking these young women."

She battled the threatening tears. "I wish that I did. I am sorry."

Stepping even closer, Lucien placed his arm protectively around her shoulder. There was a sudden air of danger that crackled about him as he narrowly regarded their guest.

"Miss Kingly had nothing to do with the murders."

Much to his credit, the Runner managed to meet that fierce golden gaze without flinching. A remarkable task, indeed.

"I do not suspect that Miss Kingly is involved, but I cannot ignore the fact that two of the victims carried notes with her name upon them."

Lucien tensed, but before he could speak, Jocelyn turned to offer him a sad shake of her head.

"He is right, Lucien. There must be some reason that this monster has left my name on those wretched maidens." She gave a deep shudder, her stomach once again threatening to revolt. "We must discover why."

"Not tonight," he retorted in icy tones.

Not even the undoubted courage of Mr. Ryan was equal to the dark, looming threat of Lucien Valin.

"No, of course not." He offered her a strained smile. "You will come to me if you discover any information?"

"Certainly."

"Then I will trouble you no further." He gave a bow. "Good evening."

Jocelyn barely noticed as the large man turned and quietly left the room. Her heart felt heavy and her mind clouded with a pained terror.

What was happening?

If someone wished to harm her, why would they kill pathetic women upon the street? And why would they possess sueh an odd fascination with her amulet?

Why?

"Have a seat, Jocelyn." With tender care Lucien guided her to a nearby chair. Waiting until she had numbly settled upon the threadbare cushion, he briefly disappeared, only to return with a small gla.s.s of brandy that he pressed into her hand. "Drink."

She did as she was commanded, giving a choked cough as the fiery spirit slid down her throat. Lifting her head, she met his concerned gaze with a frown.

"Two more girls dead," she said in quavering tones.

He grimaced, kneeling beside the chair to grasp her chilled fingers in a warm grip.

"I am sorry, Jocelyn."

"This is unbearable." She shivered in fear. "Who would do such a thing? And why?"

"As you said ... a monster," he said quietly.

"A monster who is searching for me," she retorted, no longer able to deny the truth.

There was a faint pause before she heard him heave a sigh. "I fear so."

Something in his dark tone made her search his oddly pale features. He sounded so certain.

As if... as if he knew.

"Lucien ... who is this man?"

The bronze features tightened as he studied her wary expression. "He is a very evil man. A dangerous man."

A thick lump threatened to choke her. She did not want to believe that Lucien had anything to do with the darkness that clouded about her. He was her strong shoulder that she desperately desired to lean upon. He was a steady comfort in her growingly unstable world.

But her hapless wishing could not alter the pained regret that was glittering in his golden eyes.

"What does he want from me?" she forced herself to demand.

"The Medallion."

Her fingers lifted to clutch the golden amulet. "My necklace?"

"Yes."

"But... why? It surely cannot be of value."

His eyes briefly closed before he lifted his lashes to regard her with a tortured expression.

"It is valuable, my dove. More valuable than you could ever imagine."

She struggled to accept his ragged words. It seemed impossible. What gypsy, no matter how old or mad, would offer a valuable amulet to a complete stranger? Such a woman living in obvious poverty would surely sell the necklace or at least barter for some gain.

And yet, she could not deny that the necklace had become a source of fascination for some villain. A villain willing to kill for it.

She found it suddenly difficult to breathe. "What is it?"

His hand reached up to softly touch the fingers that held the amulet in a deadly grip.

"It is an ancient artifact of the Immortals."

"Immortals?"

His lips twisted in a humorless smile. "Vampires."

Jocelyn was thrusting herself to her feet without realizing that she had moved, nearly toppling Lu-cien over as she glared down at him with blazing eyes.

"That is not amusing, Lucien."

With a slow, hesitant motion he straightened, warily regarding her sharp frown.

"No one knows that better than I."

She grappled to make sense of his absurd words. "Do you mean that someone is ridiculous enough to believe that this Medallion has the power to make them into a vampire?"

An odd expression rippled over the lean countenance. "Lately I wonder if it is so ridiculous.

It has altered you in a very profound manner. I can feel it." He stabbed her with a shimmering glance. "Can you not?"

She stilled in fear. She wanted to laugh hysterically at his obvious insanity.

Vampires?

Magical amulets?

Ludicrous.

Somehow, however, the laughter froze in her throat. In her fingers the Medallion glowed with unnatural warmth, as if to warn her that it was indeed altering her to suit its purpose.

She instinctively backed away, her heart thundering so loud that she thought it might explode.

"Stop this, Lucien, you are frightening me."

"Trust me, that is the last thing I desire." His hands clenched at his sides, a searing pain upon his face. "I need you to listen to me, Jocelyn. The Medallion is a powerful artifact, and it belongs to the vampires."