Voices floated through the darkness. Dreams. “We shouldn't have moved her.”

“Did you want to disobey Nikolaos?”

“I helped bring her here, did I not?” It was a man's voice.

“Yes,” a woman said.

I lay there with my eyes closed. I wasn't dreaming. I remembered Aubrey's hand coming from nowhere. It had been an open backhand slap. If he had closed his fist … but he hadn't. I was alive.

“Anita, are you awake?”

I opened my eyes. Light speared into my head. I closed my eyes against the light and the pain, but the pain stayed. I turned my head, and that was a mistake. The pain was a nauseating ache. It felt like the bones in my head were trying to slide off. I raised hands to cover my eyes and groaned.

“Anita, are you all right?”

Why do people always ask you that when the answer is obviously no? I spoke in a whisper, not sure how it would feel to talk. It didn't feel too bad. “Just peachy keen.”

“What?” This from the woman.

“I think she is being sarcastic,” Jean-Claude said. He sounded relieved. “She can't be hurt too badly if she is making jokes.”

I wasn't sure about the hurt too badly part. Nausea flowed in waves, from head to stomach, instead of the other way around. I was betting I had a concussion. The question was, how bad?

“Can you move, Anita?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Let me rephrase. If I help you, can you sit up?”

I swallowed, trying to breathe through the pain and nausea. “Maybe.”

Hands curved under my shoulders. The bones in my head started sliding forward as he lifted. I gasped and swallowed. “I'm going to be sick.”

I rolled over on all fours. The movement was too rapid. The pan was a whirl of light and darkness. My stomach heaved. Vomit burned up my throat. My head was exploding.

Jean-Claude held me around the waist, one cool hand on my forehead, holding the bones of my head in place. His voice held me, a soothing sheet against my skin. He was speaking French, very softly. I didn't understand a word of it, and didn't need to. His voice held me, rocked me, took some of the pain.

He cradled me against his chest, and I was too weak to protest. The pain had been screaming through my head; now it was distant, a throbbing ache. It still felt obscene to turn my head, as if my head were sliding apart, but the pain was different, bearable.

He wiped my face and mouth with a damp cloth. “Do you feel better now?” he asked.

“Yes.” I didn't understand where the pain had gone.

Theresa said, “Jean-Claude, what have you done?”

“Nikolaos wishes her to be aware and well for this visit. You saw her. She needs a hospital, not more tormenting.”

“So you helped her.” The vampire's voice sounded amused. “Nikolaos will not be pleased.”

I felt him shrug. “I did what was necessary.”

I could open my eyes without squinting or increasing the pain. We were in a dungeon; there was no other word for it. Thick stone walls enclosed a square room, perhaps twenty by twenty feet. Steps led up to a barred, wooden door. There were even chains set in the walls. Torches guttered along the walls. The only thing missing was a rack and a black-hooded torturer, one with big, beefy arms, and a tattoo that said “I love Mom.” Yeah, that would have made it perfect.

I was feeling better, much better. I shouldn't have been recovering this quickly. I had been hurt before, badly. It didn't just fade, not like this.

“Can you sit unaided?” Jean-Claude asked.

Surprisingly, the answer was yes. I sat with my back to the wall. The pain was still there, but it just didn't hurt as much. Jean-Claude got a bucket from near the stairs and washed it over the floor. There was a very modern drain in the middle of the floor.

Theresa stood staring at me, hands on hips. “You certainly are recovering quickly.” Her voice held amusement, and something else I couldn't define.

“The pain, the nausea, it's almost gone. How?”

She smirked, lips curling. “You'll have to ask Jean-Claude that. It's his doing, not mine.”

“Because you could not have done it.” There was a warm edge of anger to his voice.

Her face paled. “I would not have, regardless.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Jean-Claude looked at me, beautiful face unreadable. His dark eyes stared into mine. They were still just eyes.

“Go on, master vampire, tell her. See how grateful she is.”

Jean-Claude stared at me, watching my face. “You are badly hurt, a concussion. But Nikolaos will not let us take you to a hospital until this … interview is over with. I feared you would die or be unable to … function.” I had never heard his voice so uncertain. “So I shared my life-force with you.”

I started to shake my head. Big mistake. I pressed hands to my forehead. “I don't understand.”

He spread his hands wide. “I do not have the words.”

“Oh, allow me,” Theresa said. “He has taken the first step to making you a human servant.”

“No.” I was still having trouble thinking clearly, but I knew that wasn't right. “He didn't try to trick me with his mind, or eyes. He didn't bite me.”

“I don't mean one of those pathetic half-creatures that have a few bites and do our bidding. I mean a permanent human servant, one that will never be bitten, never be hurt. One that will age almost as slowly as we do.”

I still didn't understand. Perhaps it showed in my face because Jean-Claude said, “I took your pain and gave you some of my … stamina.”

“Are you experiencing my pain, then?”

“No, the pain is gone. I have made you a little harder to hurt.”

I still wasn't taking it all in, or maybe it was just beyond me. “I don't understand.”

“Listen, woman, he has shared with you what we consider a great gift to be given only to people who have proven themselves invaluable.”

I stared at Jean-Claude. “Does this mean I am in your power somehow?”

“Just the opposite,” Theresa said, “you are now immune to his glance, his voice, his mind. You will serve him out of willingness, nothing more. You see what he has done.”

I stared into her black eyes. They were just eyes.

She nodded. “Now you begin to understand. As an animator you had partial immunity to our gaze. Now you have almost complete immunity.” She gave an abrupt barking laugh. “Nikolaos is going to destroy you both.” With that she stalked up the stairs, the heels of her boots smacking against the stone. She left the door open behind her.

Jean-Claude had come to stand over me. His face was unreadable.

“Why?” I asked.

He just stared down at me. His hair had dried in unruly curls around his face. He was still beautiful, but the hair made him seem more real.

“Why?”

He smiled then, and there were tired lines near his eyes. “If you died, our master would have punished us. Aubrey is already suffering for his … indiscretion.”

He turned and walked up the stairs. He moved up the steps like a cat, all boneless, liquid grace.

He paused at the door and glanced back at me. “Someone will come for you when Nikolaos decides it is time.” He closed the door, and I heard it latch and lock. His voice floated through the bars, rich, almost bubbling with laughter, “And perhaps, because I liked you.” His laughter was bitter, like broken glass.