The Council was in charge of her fate. Though she hoped with all her heart and soul they would let her stay with Niall and Evan, she was too politically aware to think that it was likely. Unless no one more highly ranked than Evan wanted her.

No matter how wrong it was, she hoped the entire vampire world shunned her.

“Dawn’s coming,” Niall mentioned after a weighted moment. “You need to go to ground. Debra will help me get her bathed and ready.”

Evan nodded. When he rose, she realized she’d never seen a vampire look exhausted, depleted, but he did. Even paler than he should be. Glancing toward Niall, she saw the deep shadows beneath his eyes, the grooves alongside them. How much, or, rather, how little, had they slept? Fed properly?

“Niall, go with him,” she rasped. “Feed him and yourself. Take your rest.”

When Niall met Evan’s gaze, she saw a raw yearning in their gazes that stole her breath. They hadn’t . . . “Niall, who . . .” She coughed, and the pain of it pulled a tiny, screeching noise from her throat, drawing their attention instantly. Brian had quietly departed a few moments after Jacob, but Debra had remained. Now she came forward to hold Alanna’s shoulders as Niall put a large hand on her chest, giving her a needed pressure there as she strangled through the simple exercise of talking.

“Stop it, muirnín. Rest your voice for Council.”

But she knew what that look meant. At least she thought she did. She looked up at Debra, seeking help, and fortunately, Debra understood.

“Niall hasn’t been feeding Evan. They were switching shifts so that one of them was always here with you. Lady Lyssa ordered one of the new unassigned InhServs to give him blood.”

Niall shot her a quelling look, but Debra gave him an even stare right back. Her fingers flexed on Alanna’s shoulders as she bent to speak in her ear. “There was a concern that the stress of giving blood to his Master, and tending to you . . .”

That it would hasten the inevitable. If Evan had lost Niall during this . . .

“Lady Lyssa kens more than she lets on. That damn servant o’ hers is everywhere,” Niall grumbled.

Her gaze lifted back to her Master. She was sure he’d heard Debra, because his expression of reprobation was similar to Niall’s, but now she understood. Tending to her had worn them both down, but on top of that, Evan had known the high likelihood of Niall being overcome during this. She expected he’d tried to order Niall to step back from it, but they were too tightly intertwined now . . . all three of them. The worn edge of his comment about their stubbornness made even more sense. When he’d tried to order Niall away from this, the Scot had likely told him to go to hell, bugger off . . . whatever Scotsmen used for such an occasion.

She could talk if she whispered. “Feed him, Niall.”

If one of them had always been with her, it was likely no other needs had been met as well. She blocked the idea of what Evan might have done with the InhServ, because she had no right to want anything with respect to that, but Niall already anticipated her, catering to her petty foolishness.

“He only used her for blood, muirnín.”

She swallowed, trying not to shame herself by showing how much that meant to her, but Evan’s look of tender exasperation told her it hadn’t escaped his notice.

“Our possessive servant,” he observed. “No matter how docile she tries to appear.”

Our servant. How she wished that could be true, now and forever. “Debra is here. She will care for me. Please, Niall . . . care for him.” Care for yourself. Care for each other.

“I expect I have no vote in this,” Evan said lightly, but he seemed to understand how much effort she was expending toward this one thing, because he pressed her hand, nodded to Niall. “I understand your heart and can tend to myself. Be easy on that, man. Stay with her if you need that.”

Niall’s head lifted, and he met Alanna’s gaze. Since they weren’t in her mind—she felt that terrible pain again—she put all of it in her expression, everything she’d ever tried to communicate to him about why being a servant was a blood-deep commitment, beyond an oath of honor. It was a bond of unconditional love, a gritty, ugly, wondrous thing.

Debra had become her ally. “She won’t be left alone, Niall. I promise. She needs a bath, a full cleaning. She’d likely prefer that done by another woman. Tend to your Master.”

There were so many things in his eyes, torn between past and present, she couldn’t help but put her hand to his face, stroke there. I’m here. I love you.

The first time in her life she’d thought it, let alone said it. Her lips had formed the words, though no sound came out. His brown eyes closed, his head bowing. With the strength and aid of Debra’s hands, she put her forehead to his, then tilted to brush her lips to it.

“Go care for our Master. Care for the man you love,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hands, hard enough to be painful. Planting an abrupt kiss on her temple, he rose, turning toward the door, where Evan still waited for him.

When she saw their gazes meet, a painful peace spread through her chest, in all her vitals. She shouldn’t delay them, not for an instant, but wasn’t it Evan who taught her to accept her desires?

“Master?”

Whatever he saw in her face, she didn’t need to explain. Putting his hand on Niall’s chest, a brief caress, he strode back to her. She made a soft sound against his mouth when he put his lips over hers, a gentle but lingering kiss. He gripped her chin with firm fingers.

“You obey whatever Debra tells you. If you don’t, I’ll hear of it.”

“Yes, Master.” She brushed her cheek against his, her nose against his jaw, as much of him as she could touch in that brief moment.

Somehow, she would let them both go when the Council made their decision. But she would never let go of them in her heart. No one could make her do that. Even Stephen hadn’t managed it.

The bath knocked her back out for six hours. It filled her with despair that Niall might be right, that she wasn’t up for this, but she was determined. All she had to do was imagine the Council assembled around her bed, Lord Belizar staring down his hooked Russian nose at the small lumps of her feet under the covers, and the dreadfulness of the idea gave her strength.

So they did it in stages. Debra dressed her two hours before the dinner session. Once she was in underwear and a simple copper-colored dress that wouldn’t wrinkle while lying down, she was back out for another hour. When she surfaced, she asked about makeup, the possibility of putting a scarf over her bare head.

“It’s best not to do that,” Debra said.

“May I see a mirror? Please?”

Debra glanced toward the door. Alanna’s heart leaped, seeing Niall there, and not simply because of his reappearance. He was in a different version of what he’d worn for the wedding. White dress shirt with dark kilt and plaid, high white socks and ghillies laced over them. The gray rabbit fur sporran with its handsome silver ornamentation hung from his belt. With his dark brown hair loose on his shoulders, brushed to a silken sheen, she wasn’t surprised when the unflappable Debra blanked on Alanna’s question.

“You look . . . like you have . . . a date.” She tried to speak using her voice, a practice run for Council, but slipped back to a whisper when her vocal cords protested.

Sleep had done him a great deal of good, his face far less haggard. But he also looked . . . easier. She envied him, what that meant. Evan feeding from him for the first time in three weeks, his strong hands holding his servant possessively, plunging both fang and cock deep inside him, reasserting that claim. Niall would have gotten lost on that tide as well, likely turning once the feeding was done to clash with tongue and teeth, tasting his Master, kissing him, starting it all over again.

“I wish I could have been there,” she said.

“Ye’ll be there soon enough. And then you’ll really ken what exhaustion is.” His eyes smiled at her, but his mouth was firm, serious.

“I want to see a mirror,” she repeated. Debra stepped back, deferring to Niall on it. “I need to know what I look like, Niall. Please.”

“Ye look like a woman who’s been to hell and back,” he said shortly. “You’ve no meat on your bones, ye have no hair, and you’re as pale as . . .”

“A corpse? So putting makeup on me would make me look more like one?”

Her big Scot flinched. “Aye.”

“Well, I’ll eat,” she said resolutely. “And get back in the sun. My hair will grow.”

“I know, muirnín. But no mirror. Nae right now. See yourself as I see ye. Beautiful, alive, brave . . . everything a man could want.”

She did see that in his eyes, warming her inside and out. Unfortunately, female vanity wasn’t assuaged as easily. She looked to Debra. “Will anything help me look better?”

“The Council needs to see what your loyalty to them cost you,” Debra said. “Under the proper circumstances, they are not without compassion.”

Debra was usually as dutiful as an InhServ. Hearing her say anything that smacked of influencing the Council was unexpected. But Alanna recalled several slips in the reserved woman’s expression during her preparations that suggested her situation had affected Debra. She knew it had affected Niall. Despite her compliment, he still wasn’t 100 percent, so she decided to poke at that.

“Put makeup on him, then,” she whispered. “He looks pale.”

“’Tis your fault. These needy lasses can fair kill a lad.” His lips tugged up in a half smile. She wanted him to come closer, kiss her, but now she was thinking about how she looked. Besides holding no sexual appeal, a skeleton wasn’t capable of much in that department. It didn’t stop her heart from craving the intimacy of their bare bodies against hers, being taken by her Masters . . .

Niall was close now, his fingers on her chin. She resisted. “No. I look hideous. You just said so.”