"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, unruffled. "Any more than I would dream of completing such a dangerous spell."

"We're not completing it! Two of us would have done that. The fail-safe wouldn't have worked if we'd had sex in London, because all three of us weren't there. But here and now, it will override the geis."

"You can't be certain of that."

"Maybe not. But I can be certain that you'll die if the geis isn't broken. Would you prefer that to living under someone else's mastery?"

"I cannot say," he replied mildly. "Having never had a master. But I did die once. It wasn't so bad, as I recall."

"Mircea!"

"Cassie, would you listen to yourself? You expect me to believe that another version of me is in there" — he nodded toward the snare—“and that the three of us must copulate to break the geis despite the fact that one of us is very likely mad?"

"You think I'm lying to you?"

"I have already told you what I think—that you have been deceived. You must—"

"I must do nothing. I'm Pythia. Which, in case you missed it, means I outrank you."

Mircea caught my hands, which had been trying to get the loops of silk that served as buttonholes on his shirt loose from their toggles. I really wanted that damn thing off. "You are Pythia because we put you there!"

I gave a sudden push. He ended up sprawled on the bed. "Dulceata?—"

"I have the title because I've damned well earned it! Stop assuming that I'm the same little girl you left at Tony's. I'm not."

"Mages are treacherous," he said stubbornly. "And this one has obviously—"

I stopped him by placing one foot on the edge of the bed, between his legs, while balancing on the other. I didn't spend much time in four-inch heels, and I wasn't sure how long I could stay there. "Take it off," I ordered, nudging his inner thigh with the toe of my shoe. I'd let Sal talk me into ice blue satin heels with a strap around the ankle and toes studded with crystals in a starburst pattern. I'd thought they were a little much, but for some reason she had absolutely insisted on the shoes.

"A pretty thing. Much nicer than your last footwear selection."

I gently nudged him again, and this time I didn't hit his thigh. He breathed in sharply. Mircea could pretend all he wanted, but at least one part of him wasn't completely indifferent to my proposition. "Cassandra," he began, his tone menacing, and I repressed a grin. Okay, now I knew I was getting to him.

The shoe continued its work, moving in circles that grew bigger with every sweep, grazing but never quite touching. Just a little encouragement, though it didn't feel like he needed much. "It's too risky," he told me stubbornly. "If you're wrong—"

"I'm not wrong."

"You don't know that. You admitted it yourself."

I nudged him again and his eyes dropped to half-mast. "I thought family were the only ones you can trust. So trust me, Mircea."

He didn't answer, but his hand slowly closed around my ankle, then smoothed down over my heel to the spike. He stroked his thumb over the silken material, up and down, until I started to feel a little giddy. I was beginning to understand why Sal had pushed for the shoes.

"I told you to take it off," I repeated. I could already feel my leg going wobbly. Mircea managed to get the tiny jeweled buckle around my ankle undone one-handed and slipped the pump off. Then his lips were on my foot. It wasn't something I'd expected, and it caught me off guard. The feel of his tongue dragging along my arch, was enough to make my toes curl and my breath catch.

"What about the other you?" I asked, while my brain could still form sentences.

"What about him?" he murmured, before his teeth closed over my heel. He bit down, a fairly gentle nip, but my knee buckled from the sensation. I twitched and wobbled, and had to grab the bedpost to keep my balance.

"Damn it," I muttered.

Mircea grinned at me, unrepentant, and pulled me down beside him. "The mage did not curse me earlier. Did you not wonder why?"

I stared at that beautiful face. It was close enough to kiss, but I didn't think that was what he had in mind. "He wants to help."

"Perhaps. But is it not equally possible that he has arranged a trap?"

"He has no reason to—"

"Tensions have been rising between us and the Black Circle for some time. They would love nothing better than to strike a preemptive blow. And what could be better than killing a Senate member and the new Pythia, all at once? He made sure to exit the room—"

"Because you threw him out!"

“—something he could have easily anticipated. Once we are alone, he would expect curiosity to compel us to open the box, and thereby spring the trap on ourselves. And once the general alarm was raised, he could slip away in the confusion."

And I thought I was paranoid. "That isn't—" I stopped, because he wasn't listening to me anymore. He looked up and, for a moment, his gaze was somewhere else.

"The mage is becoming difficult for the guards to handle. I will return shortly." He rolled off the bed and headed for the door.

"Mircea!"

He looked at me over his shoulder, his face grave. "I will not kill him, Cassie. But I will have the truth of this—of a lot of things. One way or the other."

I watched him go, wondering how things could possibly have gone so bad so fast. I'd known Mircea distrusted mages—all vamps did—but I'd foolishly assumed that a life-or-death situation would override that. And it probably would have, if he'd believed that was what we were facing. But he'd convinced himself that Pritkin was a dark mage assassin and I was the naive dupe he'd conned into helping him. If I needed his cooperation, I was toast.

For the fail-safe to kick in, I needed only two components: proximity and sex. I was pretty sure I still had the former. Mircea wouldn't want anyone interfering in family business, so he would almost certainly question Pritkin here, in his suite. From what I'd seen, it was pretty extensive, but not any more so than a large house. Which meant that they were somewhere nearby.

It was the second part of the equation that was problematic. I'd assumed we all three had to be present and actively involved to break the geis, but what if we didn't? I bit my lip, furiously trying to think of anything anyone had said that might give me a clue one way or the other, but there was nothing. It was a fifty-fifty gamble: proximity to two Mirceas and sex with one of them would either break the geis or it wouldn't. And if I gambled and lost, I'd end up completing the very bond I'd been trying to avoid.

Billy had advised me once to never gamble unless I could afford to lose. But not gambling now would lose me Mircea. And I didn't think I could live with that.

I stared at the innocent-looking box on the nightstand and wondered if I was nuts. Marlowe hadn't been able to handle him; the Consul had been spooked enough to order him locked up; and here I was about to release him. What if he didn't recognize me? What if I registered as no more than food? I'd seen how fast he could feed; I'd be dead before anyone could stop him.

I can shift out if he's too much for me, I told myself, hoping it was true. Yeah, and then what? If this didn't work, I was out of ideas. If this didn't work—I pushed the thought aside as seriously counterproductive and gingerly picked up the box.

Pritkin had told me something else once, too: the geis responded to the caster's deepest desires. And right here, right now, there was nothing Mircea and I wanted more than to have it gone for good. I just hoped that was going to be enough. I placed the box in the middle of the bed and took a deep breath.

And then I let him out.

The figure of a man suddenly appeared on the bed beside me. At first, he looked to be asleep, until I looked closer and saw his face, tucked halfway into the pillow and lined with pain. His hand clutched blindly at my shoulder, clenching as tightly as his jaw, for a long minute. And then, slowly, hesitantly, almost as if it had forgotten how, it relaxed.