"Hellenic hoodwinked your elders, but we have seen his true face in my lands when he raids in our villages," Dillon said, his face growing stern. "Still, we cannot prove anything. He abducts our young maidens, dishonors them, and takes their blood before gifting them to his men. The pieces of their remains are left scattered."

Catherine's stomach turned, and nausea dammed up in her throat. She could picture their ends so clearly as if she had seen it for herself because she knew the duke. He had shown himself to her without the mask, and it was a sight that had seared itself into her psyche.

"We burn what is left," he admitted, bringing her thoughts back from the past.

Dillon avoided her eyes.

He seems so human, and I feel so very vampire and ancient, almost outlandish compared to him.

Little highlighted the glaring differences between their worlds more clearly than his words and their implications.

Just like the pine and oak trees of her homeland gave way to the cedars and ancient redwood trees of the north, they looked the same on the surface but were not. Among the towering ancient trees with their sparse vegetation and with the gradual rise in the ground thinning the air, the atmosphere was different. Almost hallowed, as if the past was more present here.

Many pine forests had come and gone while these giants grew. Kings had risen to power and fallen. Countries had come and gone. In their own way, they were the immortals of their world. But, like her kind, they could be cut down in their prime.

The further they went, the older these forests would be. To the far north, where no vampire dared to travel, there were tales of redwoods that were seedlings when the world began. They stood in the lands of the Northmen or Mountain men. Humans so fierce and skilled in battle that even vampires feared them.

Catherine reined in her wandering thoughts and mourned the loss of people she did not know but whose fate she grasped intimately.

"You need not burn them and deny them a grave," she muttered angrily.

Apart from the mortal belief that burying a body in unconsecrated ground damned the soul, they fear the dead might become newborn vampires.

Centuries of living side by side with her kind taught them to dread the destruction such beings caused.

"It is more than fear, Catherine," he said with a tired sigh. "Even if they were not drained of blood, no church would bury them."

Understanding dawned.

They are as tarnished as I am—shamed, robbed of virtue, and condemned to die as unrepentant sinners, unclean, and beyond saving.

"I've seen the dead walk?" It was a question more than a statement and meant to distract her from the tide of red filling her veins and the growing darkness in her eyes.

"Feeding and making are not the same thing," she bit out through clenched teeth. "Something that has been ripped apart is just that."

She shrugged, and he nodded.

A chill took hold of her.

One day, Hellenic will pay for his sins, she thought, hoping she lived long enough to witness it or to end him herself.

"I've seen a woman stoned to death and burned because she allowed a vampire to taste her flesh," Lord Darren told her, disturbing her thoughts. "It was in the East."

It said a lot about him even to admit he visited the place and returned alive. Such a man could stand to learn the truth firsthand, and with that thought, she made up her mind. The only way she could persuade him that feeding does not turn is for him to experience it for himself.

Should I dare suggest it?

"Do you trust me, master?" she asked, nervous tension coiling through her insides like icy static.

A rush of slow heat curled through her lower body at the thought of holding him close to her, and... she shut the thought down, opening her arms in invitation.

This might be the biggest mistake of my life, she admitted.

Dillon stared at her for the longest time, his face giving away none of his thoughts, yet curiosity-coated unease burned in his shadowed eyes where a war played out.

It hurt when he hesitated, even though it was not rational, but feelings rarely were. Just when she was ready to give up, he leaned into her embrace.

It warmed her heart that he would do so without even asking why, but she did not doubt that he knew exactly her intentions.

"No. I do not," he admitted.

She chuckled, yet a dagger twisted in her chest.

"That is fair," she said, wavering, not out of fear but because she was uncertain how he would react.

She would hate for the camaraderie that settled between them to become something else.

If he should ever look at me the way Father did, it would. . . kill something inside me.

The thought left her without defenses and confused about how that could be possible.

Am I doing this to prove I can be trusted, or am I doing it for more selfish reasons? The thought unsettled her, but not as much as the one that followed. What if I lose control of my vampire?

Icy fear slithered down her spine, but even as it did, her vampire hissed at her, seeming more hurt than angry.

A frown tugged at her brow.

The creature's reaction was unexpected and intriguing, and its bond with Dillon seemed to grow alongside hers with the same intensity.

Taking his blood would solidify it.

The heat of his body drew her like a moth to a flame, and his fragrance filled her nostrils.

Catherine tilted his head with such gentleness—as if he were fragile—and compared to her, he was.

The vampire directed her attention to the pulsing vein in his neck, the sound of it like a drum in her ears.

Saliva filled her mouth as she remembered the taste of his blood, but this time, it would be different—warm, fresh, connected to him.

Dillon knew exactly what she intended to do, and although the idea did not sit well with him, he had to know if she spoke the truth and, more importantly, if she could be trusted.

A darkly intrusive thought slithered into his mind.

"She intrigues you, and you play with fire because you want to trust her. More than that, you want to have her."

He fought it, but even as he did, the truth would not be denied.

When he first took the road to Eduardo's castle, the idea of sleeping with this vampire would have repulsed him, but now it hounded even his sleep.

Allowing her to have his life in her hands was the ultimate test, but what would it prove? Even imagining what her lips would feel like on his skin brought about illicit thoughts of taking her for himself.

But I promised her I would not, he asserted himself.

"It will hurt," she warned.

Her voice was slightly hoarse with anticipation, sending a delicious shudder down his back.

Dillon nodded, bracing himself.

She slowly leaned closer, giving him time to change his mind.

He could even see the dark spot in her left eye, a trait she shared with her father.

The way her nostrils slightly flared told him that she was as unsettled as he was, and inexplicably, it calmed him.

The rhythm of her breathing had altered, becoming more erratic and making her seem unexpectedly more human. There was so much about their kind that had been wrapped in myth and legend, which had been proven wrong by his proximity to her.

Her pupils became dark pinpoints, and her breath touched his skin.

Dillon almost closed his eyes in anticipation and then scoffed at himself as he fought the tension that built between them like the moment before a first kiss.

When her cool lips touched his skin, he felt the contact down to his toes. Her tongue touched his neck, intensifying it, and his breathing hastened.

Never had a woman affected him as intensely with such innocent a touch.

He tried to shift his position and realized he couldn't.

This moment felt nothing like he expected, and panic overtook him as reality crystallized in his mind.

Against her, his immense strength meant nothing, and he stiffened, shocked by the sensation of her teeth piercing his skin with such ease and experiencing this sample of her real power.

With those razor-sharp fangs settled in his jugular, he dared not struggle. He was overly aware of what would happen if she ripped them through his flesh.

That was not the image he had in his mind.

The odd pull as she sucked his blood seemed wrong and right at the same time, but at least the pain faded away.

His body went into shock, his mind reeled, and heat curled through his abdomen.

The horse shifted restlessly, as did hers, but she kept them in check, and he admired her for her restraint.

Pain turned to pleasure. Time sped up and slowed down as he lost track of everything but the feel of her body and the scent of his soap on her skin.

How is she both soft and unyielding? He wondered disjointedly.

He pushed the thought away.

Why do I not fear her when she could kill me on a whim? Even as I am at her mercy? Though the contact ignited a low-burning fire in his blood, his rational mind would not allow him to give himself over to what it promised—not with his past and the possibility that he could lose more than his dignity to her. She was far too great a temptation, and the risks were too high.

Dillon seemed so vulnerable in her grasp. Catherine had rarely fed directly off humans, and the experience was more intense and potent than taking blood in a goblet or feeding off an animal.

The vampire pushed at her for control, but she didn't trust it. Not that it would hurt him, but it might take advantage of his vulnerability to lead him to do something more carnal.

Her awareness of him expanded in ways he would never understand or know. The scent of his skin was different this close, and the taste of it was more intricate than she expected.

The sensation of having him to herself was powerful. Having him in her arms, holding him as close as if he were a lover, affected her intensely. And in some ways, feeding off him was more intimate than making love.

It also scared her because she could feel how she lost herself in him. How their connection altered her in fundamental ways that she suspected she would discover in days to come.