“I don’t know one. I was left on a doorstep as a newborn.”

“Ah, it happens often, though not here in San Francisco.”

“This woman I remind you of, was she a shamaness?”

Draven rubbed his thumb over her cheek before he released her chin to lean against the edge of his desk. “I’ve heard rumors to that effect. If they’re to be believed, she was very gifted, perhaps too gifted. She chose a vampire’s long life over remaining human and one day returning permanently to the realm of souls.”

For a moment old hurts threatened to overwhelm Aisling. She’d been abandoned at the edge of dark, when the predators began stirring, when the sunlight had faded enough-she imagined now-for a vampire to rise and move unseen to the doorstep, knowing there were humans in the barn who’d soon be rushing for the safety of the house.

Your mother got away from him, or so they say. But that’s a story for another day.

John’s taunt in the ghostlands coiled around Aisling with the chill of the spirit winds to remind her of what she suspected her father was-demon. Had her mother discovered it too late? Been so horrified by what she’d done that she preferred to risk everything? In all the times Aisling had traveled to the ghostlands, she’d never encountered a vampire’s soul.

“How did you come to be in Thaddeus’s debt?” Draven asked, drawing Aisling’s thoughts back to the present.

She smiled at learning the Master’s name. “I needed information in the spiritlands and traded to get it.”

“You’ve been formally trained?”

“No.”

“But your gift must be strong or you wouldn’t have survived your night in the church. Other shamans have died there.”

Aisling shivered at the deadly coldness of his voice as well as the reminder. Since he hadn’t posed it as a question, she didn’t offer an answer.

“Do you know what task I would set you to?” he asked after a long interlude of silence.

“I… I can guess.” Her breathing grew shallow with the thought of witnessing the death of a human and the birth of a vampire, of being a part of it.

Draven straightened away from the desk abruptly, making her jerk in reaction. “Come with me.”

He didn’t look back to ensure she obeyed. But then he didn’t need to. Vampires were said to have incredible hearing and a keen sense of smell. He probably heard the way her heart raced, probably smelled her fear.

Draven led her upstairs, where even greater wealth was on display. Toward the end of the hallway, he stopped and rapped on a door before opening it and going inside.

“Nice of you to wait for me to say come in, Draven,” a male voice chided as Aisling followed Draven into the room.

“This is the shamaness from Oakland,” Draven said, ignoring the rebuke.

A bare-chested blond turned in his chair. His eyebrows went up in surprise when he saw Aisling. “She looks like-”

“I thought so, too. She owes Thaddeus a shaman’s service.”

The blond went completely still. “And he’s offered it to you?”

“In exchange for an intercession with the Tucci family. One that’s easy enough to accommodate.”

“Tonight?”

“She’s here for the night. I’m sure Thaddeus aimed high but will settle for low. I imagine he’s off arranging another deal in case this one doesn’t materialize.”

The blond’s attention returned to Aisling. Sea-green eyes and flowing hair gave him the appearance of a buccaneer, too. And even though he wasn’t vampire-yet-Aisling knew few women would be able to resist him.

Silence settled like a heavy taffy being pulled between the three of them. She resisted the urge to rub her palms against her dress, fought to keep the nervousness from escalating into unstoppable tremors.

Finally the blond said, “Well, I guess tonight is as good a night to die as any.” He glanced around the room before locking his eyes to Draven’s. “Here suits me.”

Aisling was acutely aware of unspoken words between the two men, though she had no idea what they were. After a long pause, Draven said, “Here it’ll be. I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes while I arrange for a guard and escort.”

He closed the door behind him. The blond stood and met Aisling in the middle of the room. He took her hand in his. “Under the circumstances, I’d say we should introduce ourselves. I’m Ryker.”

“Aisling.”

“Tell me you’ve done this kind of thing before, Aisling.”

“No.”

“Oh well, I’ve always enjoyed firsts.” His eyes danced and his smile was infectious.

“The woman I resemble-”

“Can’t be named in your presence at this time or Draven would have done it. He’s a law unto himself, in case you haven’t guessed; otherwise you wouldn’t know of her existence at all. Are you familiar with the term omerta? The old Mafia families used it.”

“It was a code of silence, wasn’t it?”

“And loyalty. You’d do well to remember that vampires are extremely fond of the concept of omerta.” Sea-green eyes grew serious. “Whatever happens here tonight, Aisling, don’t speak of it.”

Worry and sadness knotted her stomach as she looked up into Ryker’s handsome face and imagined it drained of color, still and lifeless in death. “Why do you want this?”

“My reasons are my own.”

“But the risk-”

“Is acceptable to me.”

The smile returned to his eyes. “The thought of me being a vampire doesn’t terrify you at all. It’s the thought of my human death that has your heart racing and your eyes clouding with concern. Am I right?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I want this, Aisling. I don’t have any doubt Draven’s blood is strong enough to kick-start my heart, but if it were as simple as that then there’d be a lot more vampires.” Ryker’s knuckles brushed her cheek. “Even on such short notice and having only just met you, my gut tells me I’m lucky Thaddeus wanted something from Draven.”

Ryker’s hand fell away. He stepped back as Draven entered the room. The vampire’s gaze flicked to Aisling then back to Ryker. A dark eyebrow lifted. “Ready to start?”

“Ready,” Ryker said. His eyes found Aisling’s and filled with mischief. “I’ve always imagined I’d end up dying in bed, though not necessarily my own. Can you do whatever you need to do there?”

Heat rushed to her face. She laughed despite the cold, heavy fear that rushed to settle in her chest.

“Yes,” Aisling said, following him to a bed large enough to hold three or four people, then coloring further when Draven removed his shirt and joined them on the mattress.

With a casualness that spoke volumes, Draven opened a night-stand drawer and removed a knife. “Insurance,” he said, slicing his wrist deeply enough to draw blood.

“You do care.” Ryker mocked her, leaning down to press his lips to Draven’s wrist.

The men didn’t touch otherwise, and Draven’s expression gave no clue to his thoughts. But Aisling found the sight of them together arousing. She found the act itself erotic, deeply intimate.

Courtesy demanded she turn her head, but she couldn’t look away, couldn’t keep her gaze from dropping to the fronts of their pants as the men sat next to each other, cross-legged, one knee nearly touching. She closed her eyes then, tried to close her ears to the soft sound of Ryker drawing Draven’s blood into his body. She concentrated instead on what would come next. On what would be required of her next.

Her hand crept up to the pouch containing her fetishes. She quieted her mind and let memory guide her.

There’d been a child once, when she was a child herself. He’d fallen into a canal before he knew how to swim. His uncle pulled him out and forced the water from his lungs. He pressed on the boy’s chest until his heart beat on its own, but the boy didn’t regain consciousness.

They came to Geneva because a doctor was too expensive and they feared the worst. Geneva took Aisling with her.

Aziel wore the body of a cat in those days. He’d guided her through the gray mists of the spiritlands to a hill overlooking a playground. The boy was there, giggling wildly as his father pushed him on the swing while his mother pulled food from a wicker picnic basket and placed it on a blanket spread out on the grass.