The creature fixated on the pulsing vein in his throat as it tensed to lunge at him, drain his blood, and tear him to pieces.

Noooooo! Catherine commanded with so much power it broke through the haze of red for a fraction of a heartbeat. It was time enough for her to use every ounce of her will to rein her monster in.

Its hunger tore at her insides, the need to feed more powerful than anything she had ever experienced. She was balanced on a knife's edge and couldn't even explain to herself how she still managed to cling to reason when every instinct in her body fought against it.

The scent wafting from the cup in his hands caught her attention. It was the reason the vampire had almost escaped her. She was torn between what he offered willingly and what she could take.

Her gaze wandered to his face, and their eyes met. There was no way he would be able to ignore her blazing eyes and the fangs peeking between her lips.

Dillon's muscles tensed, and his lips were compressed into a thin line, but there was no fear in his eyes as they studied each other.

Does he have any idea how close to death he just came and how near he still is? The thought seemed disjointed. Something in his expression told her he had no illusions about her or her kind.

Then why does he trust me? She almost wailed. Or is it a test? The idea brought her up short, returning a semblance of herself.

Dillon's stride barely wavered before he approached her.

I cannot harm him. It was more than a decision on her part—it was something intrinsic. Still, it took everything inside her to take it and not cave to her base instinct and allow the vampire its way.

The container hovered close to her lips as her eyes followed him, and she couldn't resist it anymore.

That familiar metallic flavor almost undid her as she savored every precious drop. Catherine ignored the little voice whispering in her mind that there was more where that came from. Enough to heal her and sate the monster's thirst.

Dillon's wary gaze followed her every move.

He is fully aware of the risk he just took, she thought and respected him for it.

She drained it to the dregs, and although it was not nearly enough, it helped.

It is another kindness he did not owe me, she admitted, stopping short of licking out the container like a child.

"And what will he want in return?" her rational mind asked.

I am a stranger, a vampire, and a potential threat. The thought distracted her just long enough for her to put the cup down. Why would he be kind to me if he doesn't have alternative intentions?

They were like two predators drawn to the same kill and uneasy with sharing it. His coiled tension would have warned her that he was a warrior and a good one, even if they had never met before. She had an eye for such things, a tool her father had found useful in his choice of soldiers and allies.

She wiped her mouth on her unhurt arm, smearing blood on her pale skin.

Catherine lowered her feet to the ground and grimaced as the left one touched the stony riverbed. Careful to avoid any small, sharp objects that may pierce the sensitive new skin, she awaited his orders—something she only ever did with her father.

It feels strange and wrong. Before today, I owed my allegiance only to my sire.

Despite his blood, hunger and thirst still churned her stomach. He was still too close, and the wound on his wrist made everything a thousand times worse.

Her fangs would not fully retract, and the vampire strained against her hold. Strangely, there was no aggression to it now.

"Can you walk, or will you allow me to carry you to the water?" Dillon asked.

Instinct urged her to assure him she could manage, but she was realistic about the odds of her getting there on her own.

Another familiar aroma registered now that she was less feral.

Soap.

Although such a small thing, it touched her that he would think of it.

It was not the fine ones she was used to, for it was too acidic, but it was better than a slave could expect.

Lord Dillon offered it to her, folded into a washcloth and a small towel. That human gaze skimmed briefly over her healing burns. The empathy in his expression no longer surprised her, but his instant anger did.

He dislikes seeing me hurt, she gathered, a confused frown tugging at her brow.

"Forgive me... master, but I would appreciate the help." Never had she found a sentence harder to say.

Dillon's expression softened, and he wordlessly picked her up.

She could tell he was holding his breath, finding the odor of burned flesh overpowering, and she grimaced.

It has to be nasty to irritate his frail human senses to such an extent.

As grateful as she was, anger stirred alongside resentment at the circumstances that gave birth to this situation.

He waded into the water and lowered her to her feet. A single glance told her that his tall boots were created for such occasions and repelled the liquid.

He had saved her life and, with one insignificant gesture, restored her dignity.

"I'll manage, thank you," she said, hoping that she spoke the truth.

Lord Dillon walked away, offering her privacy as he turned from her and fiddled with the horses, waiting patiently as she did what needed doing.

With a sigh, she braced herself and started debriding the dead skin with her hands, biting on her teeth so as not to whimper or scream.

A knife landed near her foot, and her glance found him.

Why would he give me a knife when it threatens his life? she wondered, gratefully picking it up.

Because you do not need it to kill him, that small cynical voice reminded.

She grabbed it and, taking a deep, steadying breath, started hacking away. Tears slid down her cheeks, and as hard as she tried not to make a sound, it wasn't possible.

"I can help you," Dillon offered. "You only need to ask," he offered.

Although she nodded her understanding, she had no intention of asking him to cut into her. Not while she could not predict what her vampire might do.

She looked at herself and realized that she would be horribly damaged and scarred if she were not Eduardo's daughter.

But two or three days from now, it would be as if nothing had happened. She stopped briefly. Her hands trembled, and her body was wracked with chills. Yet, nothing will ever be the same again.

Catherine finally finished her gruesome task and retrieved the soap and cloth from a rock. Noticing how the clean water was tainted with swirls of red-brown muck that swiftly disappeared downstream.

When her dark hair finally untangled, she had glanced at Dillon about a hundred times. She sat on a rock and just caught her breath. Fatigue dragged at her, and her arms felt as if they weighed as much as a bag of rocks, but she continued untangling her hair.

When she realized how much of it had been singed and was beyond saving, she resolutely retrieved the knife and cut it shorter.

Her glance again strayed to the man tending the horses. She kept expecting him to get impatient and hurry her along, but he seemed lost in thought. In this distant mood, he was impossible to read.

A good feed would allow most of the scars to disappear, along with the pain, but she would need a lot more blood. Although she could ask to hunt, their priority was distance, not her comfort.

Dillon will know Aldrich and Eduardo's promises might not keep others from acting. She dried herself on the towel, washed it, and walked up behind him.

How easy it would be to snap his neck and disappear, she mused. If I were any other vampire, or my father was, he would be dead by now, but I honor my debts and owe this man my life. No matter the price, he may ask.

"Decided yet?" he inquired with a raised brow.

It startled her that she hadn't noticed him turning.

His blue gaze pinned her down.

One could almost assume such eyes see right past these fleshy barriers and into the soul.

"Decided what, my Lord?" She played at innocence and humility that did not feel particularly good, nor the need to justify herself to a mere human.

He seems disconcertingly tuned in to my every mood and thought. She spent an entire lifetime hiding her feelings yet did not deceive him for a second.

"If you kill me, how far will you get before your hounds find you?" Dillon asked, rising to his feet with the grace of a tiger.

His indolence vanished instantly, and the small dagger pressed hard against the flesh below her heart before she could blink.

Only then did she notice how much of this formerly concealed weapon was wood and silver.

I underestimated him. Their gazes measured each other, but her place was to lower hers before his.

Catherine offered him the skinning knife he had entrusted her with and sank painfully to her knees, bowing her head.

Her wet, streaming hair had formerly covered her breasts and most of her scarred back, but now it barely touched her shoulders as she awaited his punishment for her insolence.

"I can't go riding along the countryside with a naked woman," he muttered, striding back to his horse and not meeting the punishment any vampire would have dealt as a matter of course.

Lord Dillon had not permitted her to rise to her feet, so she stayed, expecting him to return with some tool, maybe a whip, rod, or staff.

Her face warmed, and anger sparked in her veins at his complete and absolute power over her.

I deserve whatever he chooses to do, the understanding smarted. I momentarily forgot my new station and that I am no longer the entitled princess.

Lord Dillon took longer to return than expected.

Catherine eased upright, alleviating the strain on her muscles, and something hit her chest with a soft, familiar weight. She caught the bundle out of reflex and instinct.

"Why are you still on the ground?" he asked. "You're getting dirt back in those open wounds, and although I have no bandages, you can rip up this old shirt. Some of those injuries might do better if you wrap them."

She blinked at him before finding her tongue as she fought the way her heart turned to mush.

"You did not permit me to stand, master," she reminded.

The word left a bitter taste in her mouth, undoing any softening of her emotions and reminding her that he had yet to show his true colors. The bundle contained more than an old shirt.

"Nor did I ask you to kneel in your current condition. Bow or curtsy if you must; our servants do not prostrate themselves before us like we're gods," he muttered, annoyance lacing his tone.

It is what vampires expect of their servants, she thought, and he clearly disapproves.

"Yes, master," she muttered, "Thank you."

"This is bullshit," the unexpected heat of his emotions caught her off guard. "You are a princess, and this isn't right!" he growled.

"But it is what it is, master," she reminded, sounding tired as she examined the bundle.

"It doesn't mean I have to like it or that you do," he said almost to himself.

Catherine didn't bother correcting him.

A twig snapped in the forest to their right, and they froze. Her muscles tensed as she focused on the trees, her vampire rearing to be let loose on who or whatever lurked there.

She took a deep breath, sampling the air and straining her ears. Inadvertently, she got another strong whiff of human and fresh blood, but she was barely distracted. The fatigue in her muscles vanished, and she forgot about the bundle in her arms. She was ready to fight, the hunter about to do what it did best.

"Hurry, get dressed," he quietly urged, his eyes roving the tree line as his muscles tensed and his hand rested on the hilt of his dagger. "We tarried too long."