The salesman nodded blankly.

Dageus had no doubt his ancestor would come, sword swinging, to reclaim the Dark Glass. The man was fiercely aggressive by nature and, given that he was freely dabbling with black arts, he would be even more so.

Like as not, he’d be dangerously violent. He and Drustan would be wise to sequester Chloe, Gwen, and the young twins away.

Carefully, without making contact with the glass, he rearranged the blanket over the mirror.

Then, circling round to the driver’s side of the SUV, Dageus tossed Chloe’s boots onto the passenger’s seat, climbed in, fired up the engine, and headed for home.

“But he’s your descendant, for heaven’s sake!” Jessi exclaimed. “How can you just walk away from him?”

The moment she’d seen the man “Dageus” scowling at Cian, she’d been struck by their sameness. The more she’d stared back and forth between them, the more convinced she’d become that they had to be related somehow.

Though Cian’s descendant had been dressed in expensive, tailored black trousers, a black turtleneck, and a buttery-soft leather jacket, though he’d been well groomed and polished, his civilized appearance had failed to conceal an innate primitiveness that was just like Cian’s.

She’d tried to point it out, but they were kindred even in their edgy tempers and excess testosterone. She’d not been able to spit the whole sentence out because they’d kept talking over her.

She’d continued her assessment, periodically attempting to interject her thoughts, to no avail.

Both had long dark hair, both had strong, chiseled Celtic features, both had arrogance shaping the very curve of their spine, conquest in the cant of their heads upon their shoulders, and an extra something running in their veins besides very blue, very pure blood.

Both had a base, seething sexuality. Both had powerful, highly developed physiques. And there was no denying it, Dageus was incredible looking.

But Cian was more man than his descendant. Rawer, more elemental. Dageus was leaner and prettier. Cian was larger, rough, tough, down-and-dirty—and hands-down sexier.

“Hey, wait for me!” she called, sprinting to catch up with him. While she’d been mulling over her thoughts, he’d stalked off again. He was disappearing from her view down the Sugar/Spice/Dry Goods aisle.

For a man from the ninth century, he was a quick study. Upon entering the grocery store, he’d eyed a cart consideringly, glanced around at other customers, snatched it, and begun pushing up and down aisles, examining items, selecting various cans and tins, tossing them in.

Instant Suisse Mocha—woohooo! Jessi took two tins of it from the shelf as she sped by, caught up with him, and dumped them in the cart. She’d not missed the gas stove and pots he’d heisted, and was greatly looking forward to a cup of chocolaty coffee once they got back to their “camp.”

“Aren’t you the least little bit curious about him?” she pressed.

He grunted. “Now is not the time for new beginnings, lass.” He cast the words over his shoulder at her with a scowl. “I’ll make none.”

Though she tried to hide it, a flicker of hurt flashed across her face. No new beginnings. She knew that.

And it shouldn’t bother her. It wasn’t as if they were making a new beginning or anything like that.

They were just stuck with each other for a while.

He wanted sex from her, nothing more. And this morning, he’d not even wanted sex. She was merely his means of remaining free from Lucan until he could have his vengeance. And he was merely her means of staying alive.

He couldn’t have made his feelings any plainer, really. Since the airport, all she’d gotten in the way of a kiss had been a stupid peck on the forehead that a chicken could have done better.

But like an idiot, she’d begun reading more into things than was actually there. They were forced to share close quarters, there was danger, and it was just making everything feel more intense than it was. On top of it, the man was devastatingly sexy, powerful, smart, and magic, to boot. Who could blame a girl?

No new beginnings.

Damn it, it shouldn’t bother her!

But it did. She tried to turn away, but his hand flashed out and caught her by the chin.

“Let me go,” she snapped.

“Nay.” His grip was implacable on her jaw.

There was little point in fighting for control of her face; he could have hoisted her into the air with that one big hand on her jaw, if he’d wished.

He searched her gaze a long silent moment. “You truly doona ken it, do you? Excepting with you, Jessica. You, lass, are the exception to everything,” he said softly.