Tristan raised an eyebrow at me. I gave him a slight shake of my head. He doesn't know where she is.

"Let's go then."

To the plane?

"No, I told Charlotte to take off. Go home."

With a nod, I sprang from Victor's back and landed next to Tristan. In a flash, we appeared in our garage, which gave us a few moments before we were bombarded by an eight-year-old.

"Victor was telling the truth?" Tristan asked, his voice harsh. I stopped myself from throwing my arms around him when I saw sparks of anger in his eyes.

"Um ... not exactly. It hasn't been months since he's seen her, like he said ... in fact, it was only last week in Key West. But get this ..."

Victor's memory, now my memory, played in my mind, and I shared it with Tristan. Vanessa had turned from the blond male in the alley to look at Victor. She lifted her lip in a snarl, and her musical voice warned Victor to lay off.

"He's mine," she hissed, and the memory faded.

"She was with ... Owen," I said with disbelief. But I couldn't decide if seeing them together shocked me more, or if the vision of him tilting his head, as if offering his neck to her, did.

"That's ... unexpected," Tristan agreed. "At least we know he survived it."

"We know nothing, Tristan! She could be slowly sucking him dry, and he's letting her. Victor was p.i.s.sed she wouldn't share him and all the power in his blood."

"She doesn't exactly have a reputation for sharing," Tristan muttered, which reminded me of the last time I'd heard her declare someone as hers-me.

Only, I had to admit, there was something different about the way she said it this time. Murder filled her voice when she spoke of me. Something else, something just as pa.s.sionate yet different, colored her tone when she spoke of Owen.

"Oh, no! What if he's letting her kill him on purpose? What if he's suicidal?"

"Nah," Tristan said, but he stroked his chin as if he wasn't so sure. "No," he said more firmly. "Besides, Vanessa won't kill him. He's too valuable. It'd be more likely that she'd infect him. Or perhaps convince him that he's already Daemoni because of his ties to Kali."

Exactly my fear. "He'd rather be dead than be a vamp or any kind of Daemoni. We need to find him. And if he's converted, we need to save him."

"And if he doesn't want to be saved?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed.

"Alexis, that's part of preparing for your role. You need to be able to face that possibility."

"We're talking about Owen, though. He doesn't really want to be part of them."

"You have no idea what's going through his mind right now."

I put my fists on my hips. "You're wrong. I do have an idea. I know what it's like to find out your sperm donor is evil. I don't know what the physical ties are between him and Kali, but he has her magic. He was essentially raised by her without knowing it."

"So it's a little different than finding out someone you never knew is your enemy. Owen might handle his news differently than you handled yours."

"He can't want to be evil, Tristan. Not Owen!"

"And if he does? Can you kill him if it comes to that?"

I turned my back on him and crossed my arms over my chest.

"We can't let it come to that," I said, then I strode out of the garage and headed for the house.

Tristan's hand clamped on my shoulder, and he spun me around. "We're not done yet."

But apparently we were, for the time being anyway, because Dorian's voice rang from inside the house and the backdoor flew open.

"Mom's home!"

Chapter 5.

I rearranged my mental focus and put myself in Mom mode right when a not-so-little boy came sailing at me. Using his own special skills, he slowed in mid-air to avoid a collision-he was already big enough that he could have easily bowled me over. I wrapped my arms around him as he embraced my neck.

"I told you I'd come home," I said. "Did you miss me?"

"Lots! But Blossom's been here and she does everything for me. And she's made cake every day! I think I want to marry her. Is that okay with you, Mom?"

I chuckled. "Isn't she a little old for you?"

He shrugged. "Nah. And she's beautiful." He paused. "But so is Heather. She's younger. Maybe I'll marry her instead."

I knew Blossom-the cake-baking witch with blond hair, big eyes and a spell-enhanced chest, who had become a good friend-but I didn't know Heather. The name rang some kind of bell in my mind, but I couldn't immediately place it.

"Who's Heather?" I asked him.

"She's been helping Dad and Blossom. She's here right now." Dorian tugged at my hand to pull me inside, but my feet remained planted outside the door. I looked over my shoulder at Tristan.

"Heather?" I asked.

His angry scowl transformed into a guilty grimace. Jealousy's green tentacles tried to slither around my heart, but then the image of a handwritten note appeared in my mind, a letter I'd received right after the trial, signed by Heather. She'd been the girl whose dad I'd punched in the nose ten years ago, and a few weeks later, he'd driven his car into Mom's bookstore. She'd written me to ask for my help, believing that her sister Sonya, who had stalked me, the author, had become a vampire. Ah, c.r.a.p. I wasn't in the best mental or physical state to take this on.

"Sorry," Tristan muttered. "I should have given you some warning. She was sitting on the front step the day Dorian and I arrived, and she hasn't left since."

I drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Come on, Mom," Dorian said, still tugging on my arm. "You're letting the bugs in."

I reluctantly crossed the threshold and into my home-the place I'd lived in for only a few months and had been gone from twice as long. It didn't feel quite like home at the moment. Especially knowing my two men had been here earlier with the two women sitting at my dining table. Well, one woman and one girl. The unfamiliar one, with shoulder-length, brown hair and blue eyes, couldn't have been more than sixteen years old.

"Hi," she said with a little wave of her hand and a wide smile that showed nearly all of her pearly whites. "I'm Heather."

Before I could get a word out, Blossom sprang out of her chair and threw her arms around my neck. "Alexis! It's so good to see you!"

Then she jerked out of my arms and started mumbling apologies for her behavior as she dipped into a curtsy.

"Oh, stop that," I growled, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a hug. She let out a joyous laugh.

"Don't worry, Heather's all right," Blossom whispered in my ear. "I've been watching her."

I gave her a squeeze of appreciation.

For some reason, I'd expected Heather to immediately jump all over me about helping her sister, but she didn't. Rather, she acted quite mature for her age, making small talk about my trip and how she and Dorian had spent the day. After a while, she and Blossom left.

"I thought you said Heather hadn't left since you've been here," I said to Tristan after we put Dorian to bed, grimacing at the accusatory tone of my own voice.

Was I reading too much into the fact that she finally decided to leave once the wife came home? She certainly had a crush on Tristan, the way she looked at him. But was there more than that? Sure, Tristan was way too old for her, but then again, I'd been only eighteen when he came looking for me. Stop being petty! Totally different situation.

"Don't worry-she'll be back tomorrow." His annoyed tone rea.s.sured me.

"You don't like her?"

"She's a good kid. She's been really helpful with Dorian. But she's, well, very persistent."

"Persistent with what?" Ugh. There it was again-that tone of suspicion.

A smile danced on his lips. "About her sister."

"Oh. Right. Of course." I nodded. "She didn't say a word of it to me, though."

"Because Blossom threatened her life to give you time to settle in." Tristan came up to me and lifted my chin with his thumb. His eyes were alight, the gold dancing beautifully, a stark but nice contrast to how they'd looked earlier. "Do I sense a little jealousy, ma lykita?"

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against his chest, unable to look into his eyes. "Stupid, I know. I ... I feel weird in my own home, I guess. Like it's not even mine. I just want to get back to normal."

"Normal?" he asked with curiosity as he wrapped his arms around me.

"Heh. Yeah," I said. "Whatever that is."

Except having his arms finally around me was the best normal I could ask for. I pressed my hands against his ribs and slid them around to his back, pulling him closer, wanting to eliminate the last millimeters of s.p.a.ce between our bodies after the thousands of miles that had separated us for the last two weeks.

"I'm so glad you're home," he said, his voice thick.

"Me, too," I whispered, my hands wandering southward to the hem of his shirt, and underneath. His muscles tightened under my touch. "Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?"

A low growl rumbled in his chest, but he didn't let go of me. "We'll talk about it later."

"But Char and the rest got away safely, right?"

"Yes, no thanks to you. Or me, since I had to go searching for you."

Before he changed his mind and decided to talk about it now, I lifted his shirt to his shoulders and ran my mouth across his chest. The growl turned into a hum of pleasure as I made him forget his anger with me. In a flash, we were in our room, and my jacket and Tristan's shirt were tossed to the floor.

"You're so d.a.m.n s.e.xy in that," he said, his heated gaze traveling down to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s that nearly spilled over the top of my bustier as they throbbed with need.

In one swift move, he grabbed my wrists, lifted my arms above my head and shoved me against the wall as he planted his mouth on mine. His tongue pushed its way in and moved urgently, hungrily, leaving me breathless and weak-kneed. He brought my hands together over my head and clasped my wrists in one of his hands as the other trailed shocks down my arm. I squirmed under his touch, and he pressed harder against me, grinding his pelvis into mine. My thighs quivered, ready to open up and let him in.

"Do me a favor and stay right there," he murmured against my lips. I nodded.

He stepped backward, and my arms began to slide down the wall, but his hand returned in an instant, holding them up.

"Right there," he said.

"Um ... okay."

What was he doing? If he wanted to play our favorite game, he could have held me in place with his power. I wasn't about to ask, though. I could either cooperate or ruin the fun. No way would I ruin the fun.

It hadn't just been two weeks, but over eight months since we'd truly been able to be together the way we preferred. Being in the woods on the Amadis Island, with so many creatures who could easily encroach into my telepathic range, wasn't nearly the same as being home where I could truly let go of all my inhibitions. Any nearby humans wouldn't understand that I blasted o.r.g.a.s.mic feelings into their heads and, so far anyway, Dorian had no clue, as if his child's mind blocked it out.

So I stood there with my arms crossed high over my head, trying not to squirm too much from antic.i.p.ation as Tristan knelt before me.

After removing and discarding my boots, his hands went to my hips and his lips to my stomach. As he kissed the exposed skin between the bottom of the corset and the top of my pants, his fingers slipped under the tight leather and slowly slid to the b.u.t.ton. Then his hands pushed down, taking my pants with them, and his mouth followed close behind, kissing and sucking my inner thigh, the inside of my knee, my calf, all the way to my ankles. I pulled one foot free from the tight leather and then the other, and he pushed my pants to the side. Then he placed insanely high, hot pink stilettos in front of me. I raised an eyebrow.

"Humor me," he said, his voice husky, as he slipped the shoes onto my feet, raising me several inches higher.

He rose to his full height, his eyes never leaving my body, now clad in only a black leather custier and five-inch heels. He c.o.c.ked his head and a slow smile spread across his stunning face. Then he reached out and undid the top b.u.t.tons of the corset, freeing my aching b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Hmm ... that's what I'm talking about," he murmured.

"You like?" I asked with a small smile, enjoying the power I had over him.

"Very much." His smoldering eyes lit a fire in my belly. Well, the fire had already been lit, but now it blossomed into a heat that was both pleasurable and agonizing at the same time. My muscles clenched as if he were already inside me.

"Your turn." I glanced at the bulge in his pants.

"Don't move," he said with a grin, then he proceeded to unb.u.t.ton his pants and slide them down torturously slow, teasing me the whole time.

But at some point, he must not have been able to stand the torment himself because he was suddenly naked and pressed against me. One hand held my wrists again and the other grasped my jaw as he kissed me deeply with a desperation I felt all the way to my toes. His hand slid from my face, down my neck and glided slowly to my breast. His fingertips trailed circles of current around my nipple as they spiraled their way in. By the time they reached the tip, his mouth was pulling my other breast in. His teeth grazed one nipple as his fingers pinched the other, stretching them both long and tight. I moaned and arched my back, pushing my b.r.e.a.s.t.s against him, begging for more.

His mouth moved to my other nipple and licked, sucked, rolled, and bit as his free hand moved down my side, to the back, over my bare cheek. He pulled my hips into him as he pressed his erection against my belly. The heels made me nearly the right height to match us up.

"Ah, Lexi," he groaned against my breast, "I need you."

"Take ... me," I panted.

In response, he spun me around so I faced the wall. His hands grasped my hips and pulled them back, forcing me to lean forward. He ma.s.saged my cheeks and my thighs then pushed my legs outward.

"Oh, G.o.d," he moaned, and he slid inside me from behind. I cried out as he pushed deeper in, slowly until he filled me completely. "You feel ... so ... good."

He took my wrists in one hand again and held them to the wall as his other caressed my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then splayed across my stomach, holding me still as he thrust in and out. His fingers inched downward until they touched the nub of raw nerves, and a jolt of ecstasy shot through me. I succ.u.mbed to the first wave of an o.r.g.a.s.m. He continued to move back and forth, in and out, each stroke harder, deeper, faster, and wave after wave wracked through me until I could barely stand on my shaky legs.