Elia seemed to relax. “Four is a reasonable—”

“And one of your own children among them.”

The older man froze. “I have only my daughter, Kiraz,” he said. “And she is no warrior, Lucien.”

Makeda’s sympathy was with the older vampire. If he truly had only one child, surely Lucien wouldn’t—

“If your daughter is no warrior, she can assist Saba in some other fashion,” Lucien said, his voice firm. “But Kiraz must come with us, Elia. If she does not, you know what the consequences will be.”

“Elia, son of my children’s blood, I will have your fealty this night, or I will wipe your line from the earth and your name from my memory.”

Those had been Saba’s words. Harsh and unyielding. This was no modern diplomatic negotiation. This was conquest.

The words varied depending on the audience, but every country they visited received the same message.

Give me everything I want, or you will die.

And not a single vampire leader they’d met so far had challenged it.

Elia wouldn’t either.

“I leave my daughter in your care,” he said, grabbing Lucien’s hand. “Your care, old friend. If she comes to harm, I will come to you.”

Lucien clasped Elia’s hand. “I understand.”

“Will we win?” Makeda asked later that night. She and Lucien lay on a low bed pulled out under the stars. The balcony of their room sat high on a hill, open to the countless stars speckling the Cappadocian night.

Lucien was strong here with the ancient earth surrounding them. His loving was fierce. He’d pressed her up against the wall of their room and taken her only an hour before, her back against the cool stone and her legs wrapped around his waist. He’d driven into her with silent focus, his eyes locked on the pulsing vein in her neck. He scraped his teeth along her breasts.

But he did not bite.

When he had come in her, the earth around them trembled. Then he’d brought her under the stars and rested in her arms, his head on her chest and his fingers tracing over the curve of her hip.

“We will win,” he said. “Do not fear that, yene konjo.”

“So Elia’s daughter will be safe?”

He said nothing for a long time. “We will win. I cannot say there won’t be losses.”

“But she’s not a warrior,” Makeda said. “He told you that. Saba won’t put her in battle, will she? Is she planning to put me into battle?”

He kissed her hard. “You’ll stay with me. Do not leave my side. Not once, do you understand?”

“But Elia’s daughter—”

“Kiraz is Elia’s problem,” Lucien said harshly. “Not yours. I will do what I can, but he should have trained her better. Prepared her more. Or had more children.”

“What? As insurance against hostile takeovers?”

Lucien’s shoulders tensed. “Why not? It’s what my parents did. This is not the modern human world, Makeda.” His low curse reached her ears. “I sometimes think modern humans are less suited for immortality than ancient ones were. The world is too soft now.”

Her hands fell from his back. “Well, some of us didn’t have a choice, did we?”

He raised his head and his eyes were fierce. “Did you want me to watch you die?”

Makeda said nothing.

Some nights she still hungered for the day. Some nights anger snuck up on her and wouldn’t let go. Maybe someday she would forget the feel of daylight as Lucien had, but that day hadn’t come yet.

“I love you,” he said, his voice rough. “I have loved many women in my very long life, but none of them have I loved the way I love you.”

She looked away. “It’s because—”

“Stop trying to rationalize my feelings,” he bit out. “I love you. If you don’t want my love, you should leave my bed. If you don’t return my love, I can be content with that. But stop telling me what I feel, Makeda. I’m not a child to be patronized.”

“I’m not trying to patronize you. I’m just saying—”

“You’re trying to deny my feelings for you because you’re still angry with me. Or maybe because you don’t feel the same way. I didn’t ask you to feel the same way, did I? So don’t try to tell me I don’t love you with some ridiculous rationalization you’ve concocted to make yourself—”

“I love you too!”

Lucien looked as if Makeda had slapped him. “What?”

Her heart raced. She hadn’t meant to tell him. Hadn’t meant to make herself so very vulnerable.

But it was the truth.

She shook her head and tried to roll away, but he planted his legs on either side of her hips and locked her in place. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“When do I ever say things I don’t mean?”

His forehead fell, rested against her neck. She could feel his breath on her chest. “Yene hiwot, tell me again.”

She felt like her heart was caught in her throat.

“Please,” he whispered. “Forgive me, Makeda. Tell me you love me and forgive me. You say you love me. If I were the one dying, would you be able to let go?”

Would she have made the same choice? If it was Lucien she loved? If it had been one of her beloved human family, would she have given in to her own need to see them live?

Yes.