One tukul and one bed.

When Lucien returned to the tukul, Makeda was already asleep on the bed. Piles of blankets and embroidered pillows surrounded her. The bed lay low to the ground, raised on a wooden platform he’d carved one year from a cedar tree that had fallen on the island. It was long and wide. Lucien was not a small man, and he liked to lounge when he had the time.

Makeda’s hair was damp and curling around her face, and she wore a long linen dress Gedeyon’s daughter, Hirut, must have found. Makeda was so tall the dress only came past her knees.

Modern men were so foolish, Lucien thought, gazing at the delicate bones of Makeda’s feet and ankles. Artificially molded bodies had nothing on the delicacy of a woman’s bared ankle. He resisted the urge to stroke her skin from her arch to the curving heel and drew a sheet up to her waist.

Then he secured the tukul, setting the alarms that would wake him should anyone try to disturb him or Makeda as they slept. She would not wake. She was sleeping the unmoving, heavy sleep of the newly turned. He doubted she would even twitch.

He glanced around the tukul as he stripped off his traveling clothes and put on a loose pair of pants that wouldn’t scandalize an American woman. He’d have to share the bed with her. There was no place else to sleep, and he wasn’t taking the floor. There were low stools, but not even a couch or chair because he never had visitors here.

Makeda must have been near collapse to not consult with him about sleeping arrangements. Or perhaps she assumed the house was hers and he had another on the island. Either way, he had no desire to sleep on the floor. Shifting Makeda’s body to one side of the bed, he climbed in. There was plenty of room, and she was safe with him. He would wake before her anyway.

But when her eyes fluttered open at nightfall, Lucien still hadn’t left the bed.

“What are you doing?” she said.

Trying to understand why I still find you fascinating. Lucien raised a hand and moved an errant curl that had fallen over her face. “Observing you.”

Her eyes were wide. “I meant why are you in my bed?”

“It’s my bed, actually.”

“You mean—”

“There’s only one tukul on the island and only one bed. I don’t mind sharing with you. You’re a very quiet sleeper, and it’s a very wide bed.”

She said nothing, but he could tell she wasn’t pleased.

“It’s practical,” he said. “This way I can guard you. I will wake during the day if we’re disturbed. You will not. You’re completely vulnerable when you sleep.”

She glanced down at his bare chest. “Apparently.”

“Don’t insult me by implying I would violate you. One, you should know me better than that. Two, I would be a pariah among my associates for taking advantage of a newly turned vampire under my aegis, and three, my own sire would cut my throat if I ever violated a woman.”

He saw her shoulders relax. “Your mother would really do that?”

“Yes.”

“She sounds…”

“Harsh?”

“No. I wasn’t going to say harsh.”

But she didn’t expound on her original statement. They lay, openly staring at each other as rain fell on the roof of the tukul. The thatch rustled in the wind and the rain, but the reeds swelled to keep them dry.

“I prefer tukuls,” he said. “They’re very sensible. Ecologically sensitive. Efficient.”

“And the rain sounds lovely on the roof,” she said. “I’ve never slept in one before. I grew up in the city.”

“I don’t like cities.” He picked up another curl and rubbed it between his fingers, examining the weight and texture of her hair, which was extraordinarily fine. “Tukuls are light-safe too.”

“I know. I checked before I went to sleep.”

“Smart girl.”

“I’m a genius.”

“I know. I read Katya’s file on you.”

She paused and watched him play with her hair. “Don’t be impressed,” she said. “Genius is not an accomplishment.” Makeda frowned but didn’t move away from him. “Do you have a file too?”

The corner of Lucien’s mouth turned up. “I’m sure I have files in archives all over the globe.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He propped himself up on one elbow and continued playing with the curl he held. “I like your hair. Do you mind?”

“No, the Elixir virus,” she asked. “Why are you working on it? Curiosity?”

He considered how to answer her.

It killed my lover.

But that wasn’t true. Not really. The cancer would have taken Rada if the Elixir hadn’t come along.

I’m trying to save the world.

Arrogant. And fundamentally untrue. He was ambivalent about the world as a whole.

I’m obeying my mother.

It was accurate. It also made him sound like a child.

“I was visiting a friend—a former assistant—when I first heard of it,” he began. “She was dying. She had pancreatic cancer, and there was nothing more the doctors could do. Her family didn’t know who I was, but I visited her at night.”

“You cared for her,” Makeda said.

“Very much. And I couldn’t save her.”

Makeda shifted closer on the bed, and Lucien resisted the urge to take her in his arms. She wouldn’t be warm, but she would be soft. He coveted the weight of her body and imagined her head resting on his chest.