"Not all of it," Requiem said, "but much of it, yes."

I looked at Jean-Claude. "And no one called the cops?"

He had the grace to look away, not embarrassed, but... "What did you do?" I asked.

"Mass hypnosis is not illegal, ma petite, only personal hypnotism."

"You bespelled the crowd," I said.

"I, and Asher."

I laid my hand above the wound that looked like it had come closest to his heart. I had a bad thought. "You said she attacked Asher. Is he this hurt?"

"No."

"I think she knew that you and Jean-Claude would kill her if she slew Asher. I think she believed I was of less value to you." Again his voice was empty, but the very emptiness of it made me look at him.

"That sounded bitter," I said.

He looked away from me, a small smile on his face. "I meant it to sound like nothing."

"I've listened to a lot of empty vampire voices, and there's flavor even to the emptiness."

"I was a fool to tell her in a public place, but she pressed me, asked me, and I told the truth." He looked at me then, and I had to fight to meet his gaze, not because of vampire powers, but because the bruises looked painful, and I knew somehow, weirdly, they were my fault.

"Did you really tell Meng Die that you dumped her because you thought I'd turned you down because of her?"

"Not in those words, but yes."

I sighed, and shook my head. "Oh, Requiem. I mean I didn't think she'd take it this badly"—I motioned at some of his injuries—"but her pride wouldn't let her take it lying down."

"Pride," he nodded, then stopped in midmotion as if it had hurt. "She has much pride, and I seem to have none." He looked at me, and emotion filled his eyes, his face, and the emotion was too strong for me to keep looking into his face.

"Don't," I whispered.

He slid to the ground, went to his knees. He made a small involuntary sound. It must have hurt. He took my hand, and I let him, because pulling away seemed petty. "What must I do to be in your bed, Anita? Tell me, and I will do it."

I looked into his face, saw the pain there, and it wasn't the pain of bruises and cuts. I looked at Jean-Claude. "It's the ardeur, isn't it?"

"I fear so," he said.

I turned back to the vampire kneeling in front of me. I had no idea what to say.

"Am I ugly to you?" he asked.

"No," and I traced the line of his uninjured cheek. "You are very hand­some, and you know it."

He shook his head, stopped in midmotion, again as if it hurt. "If I were handsome enough, you would have taken me to your bed and not turned to

these strangers." He lowered his head, both hands gripping mine. He finally raised his face, and he was crying. "Please, Anita, please, do not cast me aside so easily. I know that you did not enjoy the attentions I gave you as much as I enjoyed die touch of your body. But I will be better, I swear it, if only you will give me another chance to show you pleasure. I was trying to be too careful of you. I did not understand. I can do better, be better." He buried his face against my legs, and wept.

"I believe we have our answer, ma petite."

I stroked Requiem's hair, and didn't know what he was talking about. I was too stunned to think. "Answer to what?" I asked.

"The effect you have on vampires that have tasted the ardeur before. I think you are addictive, as Belle was addictive." He motioned toward Re­quiem, who was clutching at me, still weeping into my legs. "He is powerful enough to be a Master of a City, ma petite, not powerful in the way of Au­gustine, or myself, but powerful. He lacks not power, but ambition. He does not wish to rule."

"There is no shame to that," Elinore said.

"Non," Jean-Claude said, "but I want ma petite to understand that her ef­fect on Requiem is not a small thing."

Elinore had sat back in the chair, curling her legs under her, because her feet wouldn't have reached the ground. "I had no idea she had bespelled him like this."

"I didn't bespell him," I said.

She gave me a look and motioned at the vampire at my feet. "Pick a dif­ferent word if you like, Anita, but the effect is the same. We can argue se­mantics, but Requiem is besotted with you in a way most unnatural."

I stroked his hair, so straight and thick, but not warm. He was cool to the touch. "He needs to feed," I said. "Healing is going to take a lot of blood and energy."

"I don't think blood will cure this," Elinore said, and her voice sounded almost accusatory.

"What do you want from me, Elinore? What do you want me to do?"

"Make him your lover," she said.

"I have four men that I'm the only sex they're getting, and two more that are in my bed some of the time. Hell, Jason makes it into my bed about once a month."

"Exactly," Elinore said, "one more will hardly make a difference."

"If it were just sex, maybe, but it's not just sex. It's the emotional stuff. I don't even know if there's enough of me to go around for five men, plus ex­tras. Call me crazy, but I don't think Requiem is a low-needs item." I stroked

his hair, felt him shake against my legs. "No, I think he definitely goes in the high-maintenance category. I don't think I have enough emotion left to do another high-needs man, okay? That's the truth. I'm sure he'd be a wonder­ful lover, but I couldn't meet his other needs."

"What other needs?" she asked.

"Talk, emotion, sharing, love."

Elinore shifted in her chair, turning her head to one side, her long hair spilling around her like a cornsilk dream. "You turned him down as your lover because you don't think you can love him?"

I thought about it for a heartbeat, then shrugged, and nodded. "Yeah, sort of."

Elinore looked at Jean-Claude. "She turned him down because she does not think she could love him."

Jean-Claude gave that graceful shrug. "She is very young."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not sitting here," I said.

Requiem's crying had slowed, so that he was mostly just kneeling with his head in my lap. I kept petting his hair, the way you'd soothe a dog, or a sick child.

"We all understand, Anita, that you are Jean-Claude's consort. We all un­ derstand that you and he and Asher are a threesome. We all understand that your triumvirate witJi the Ulfric and Jean-Claude must be maintained for reasons of power and safety. That maintenance includes sex, because he is of Belle Morte's line. I admit that I thought him a fool, and weak, to have al­lowed you such closeness with the wereleopards, but I was wrong. Out of that closeness came your own triumvirate, which has strengthed Jean-Claude's powers immensely. Your tie to Damian and Nathaniel is a won­drous thing. Your tie to Micah is a puzzlement, but I understand now that your powers are much like Belle's. She collected men, too."

"I am not like Belle Morte," I said.

"Your power is." She pointed at Requiem. "This is proof of that."

"I don't want to collect men," I said. I stared down at the man in my lap. "I certainly don't want them this... besotted. This a level of wanting that's just wrong."

"Why is it wrong?" Elinore asked.

"Because I don't think he has a choice about it. I didn't mean to collect Requiem."

He looked up then, as if my saying his name had called him. The tears had dried to faint reddish lines on his face. The red didn't help the bruises look any better.

I touched the unhurt side of his face, and he laid his cheek in my hand, as if that one touch were something wonderful. "How do I fix this?" I asked.

"You mean how do you set him free?" Elinore asked.

"Yes."

"You don't."

I stared at her. "What do you mean, I don't?"

"There is no cure, Anita. There is only going far away from you. He will still crave your touch, but he will not be able to act upon it."