"I have hurt you," he said, "and I am a clumsy fool."

I eased until I was sitting more on one hip. "Fool, I don't know you well enough to answer, but clumsy, that I know is a lie. You may be a lot of things, but clumsy isn't one of them."

"You compliment me, even as I see your discomfort."

"Why didn't you just take off the pants and fuck her?" Graham asked. His face looked more in pain than either of ours.

"I told her to let down her shields, and she did it. She trusted me, but she did not understand what my power can do."

"You told me that it was lust," I said, and my voice still sounded lazier than normal, almost sleepy.

"Yes, but it is not seduction as Jean-Claude and Asher can do. It is simply lust."

"It was like hours of really good foreplay all at once. It felt wonderful."

"But it is purely physiological, purely of the body. My gift does not touch the mind, only the flesh."

"What's wrong with that?" Graham asked.

"If a woman's body reacts to my power, but her mind does not, I see it as little better than rape, and I have never been interested in such things." He sighed. "Anita did not want to have intercourse with me, she made that clear. She'd offered me blood once tonight, but she needed to keep the rest for herself. I was hoping to be able to stop sooner, but you kept demanding more. The ardeur did not quiet as I had hoped."

"I could feel it," Graham said, "it was amazing, like what you did to me earlier, but more. It felt like if I could have just touched you, it would have been more."

Requiem said, "More, yes, it would be more."

"What could be more than orgasm?"

He looked at me, and I looked at him, and neither of us looked at Graham.

"I knew it," Graham said, "I fucking knew it."

"I obeyed Anita's wishes. We did not have intercourse, we saved her vampire servant, and the ardeur has been fed."

I looked at him as he sat on the floorboard. He still looked elegant, but sort of dissipated, like an elegant rake. If he'd unfastened those leather pants and made it intercourse, I wouldn't have said no, because truthfully, I'd thought that was all that would save Damian. Or maybe I was just too American, and only intercourse meant sex. Maybe. But whatever the reasoning, Requiem had behaved himself in circumstances where most men wouldn't have. He got a lot of brownie points for that. If I'd had a gold star, I would have pinned it on him.

I did the next best thing. I kissed him on the cheek and said, "Thank you."

43

Graham double-parked in front of Guilty Pleasures and said he'd valet the car for me. I let him do it, which said just how well I was feeling. I was better, but I'd shoved a lot of the last feeding into Damian, and apparently, not kept enough for myself. The learning curve on the new version of the ardeur was going to take some getting used to.

Requiem offered me his hand to help me out of the Jeep, and I took it. I was stiff and more than a little sore, and since he'd helped get me that way, it seemed fair he help me out of the Jeep. Besides, I couldn't just flounce out of the Jeep like normal. I had no underwear on, and one of my great goals in life was not to flash anyone tonight by accident.

Clay, the new blond werewolf, was at the door. A trio of women were chatting him up. A man in coat and hat slipped past his back and into the club. Clay didn't seem to notice. He was far too busy staring at the redhead's chest.

He noticed us in time to suddenly usher the women into the club, before we got there. He stood, one hand on the opposite wrist, as if he'd been doing it all night. But everything about him screamed kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Requiem had a little trouble with the steps leading up to the door, too, which let me know that vampire or not, he might have a few rubby spots of his own. When we were at the top, even with Clay, I stopped long enough to say, "All those women better be of age, Clay."

He looked surprised, either at the thought of it, or that I'd seen him. "They're over twenty-one."

"You see ID?"

He looked perplexed. "Well, Maria said that her friend had left her ID at home. I know Maria."

I shook my head. "You better hope someone catches her friend inside." I let Requiem lead me past the puzzled werewolf.

It was 1:00 in the morning, but when Requiem opened the door, the sound of many people in a small space, having a very good time, spilled out around us. It was hot inside the doors, and it wasn't caused by the heating system, it was just that many bodies in a small space. I couldn't see if Nathaniel was on stage yet, because my view was blocked by a curtain of black-shirted security.

Buzz was talking to the three women. "If she doesn't have ID, she doesn't get in."

"But Clay told us it would be alright," the redhead said, and I assumed it was Maria.

"Maria," Buzz said, "you know the rules. No exceptions, not even for regulars."

The man who'd come in just ahead of us was facing two of the largest security guards I'd seen. One was as blond as Clay, and the other was very, very brunette, as in African American brunette. They were both over six feet, with a shoulder spread that was nearly as wide as I was tall. They made Buzz look small, and I wondered where they'd been when Primo was beating everyone's ass.

The brunette said, "You are not allowed in here."

"I have a right to see my own son," the man said.

"I told you, Marlowe is not dancing tonight. He called in sick."

Marlowe was Gregory's stage name, and he only had one biological unit that called itself his father. The man who'd sexually abused them as children, pimped them out to other pedophiles, and even put them in films. I knew he was in town, but we had a restraining order against him. Alright, Gregory and Stephen did.

I patted Requiem's hand and said, "Excuse me a minute." I went to the big security guards. Buzz saw me moving, and he gave the three women over to someone else to usher outside. He followed me. You'd think he didn't trust me not to start trouble.

"Excuse me," I said, "are you Anthony Dietrich?"

He turned, then had to look down, as if he'd expected me to be taller. "Who's asking?"

The creepy thing was that he had their eyes. Those beautiful cornflower blue eyes stared out of a lined and aged face. He was close to six feet tall, and the face was flat and harsh, not the delicate bone structure of the boys. Only the eyes staring out of a stranger's face.

The eyes shook me, so that I stood there staring for a second, and it was Buzz who said, "The boys have a restraining order against you. You can't enter this club without violating it. Charon, Cerebus, get his ass out of here. Don't hurt him, but get him out."

The two big men took an arm apiece, lifted, and carried him, without his feet touching the ground, out the door.

I turned to Buzz. "Does he try to get in here often?"

"A couple of times, whenever Harlow or Marlowe are scheduled."

I shook my head. "That is just so... wrong."

Buzz nodded, then took a deep breath and shook his shoulders, like a bird settling its feathers. "I'm going to have to talk to Clay."

"You talk to him, then send him to me, because I want to talk to him, too."

He looked at me. "Okay, but Brandon saved a chair by the stage for you, and I think he'll be very disappointed if you don't at least catch the end of his act."