“Of course she is,” Mrs. Fisher answered. She stood tall and elegant, making Mason look like a red-faced garden gnome clinging to her side. “Fresh and . . .”

Shut up!

Angelina flinched.

“I am well, Mr. Fletcher, Mrs. Fisher, though somewhat confused.” Angelina took a moment to glare at Mason, who didn’t register her presence. “I might forgo drinks and retire . . .”

“Nonsense! We haven’t even had a chat.” Mrs. Fisher dropped Mason’s arm and offered it to Angelina. “Shall we?”

Stellan pulled his sister back. “If you don’t mind, dearest, I would like a moment with Miss Ralston.” And you keep away from her before I stake you with the first shard of wood I find!

Angelina startled. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Fisher chuckled into her hands. “Definitely a problem, brother.”

Stellan whispered something to his sister, and the woman literally bared her teeth at him before taking Mason’s waiting arm and walking away. He turned to Angelina. “Miss Ralston, let me explain.”

Angelina composed herself. “Please do.”

They stood in the hallway and allowed the others to precede them, all but Mrs. Blackwell, who remained snoring in the dining room.

Stellan let out a long slow sigh. “I have to return.”

“To . . . ?”

“My father’s realm.”

“Realm?” she whispered. “Is he a king?”

“Not precisely, but my presence is urgently needed.”

“I see.” She waited for more, and when nothing came, her brows knit. “That’s the sum of your explanation?”

Stellan took a step closer. There is so much to tell you. “My family is . . . eccentric.”

“I see that,” she said. Her uncertainty melted as their eyes met. Stellan took her hand, and warmth washed over her like a tide. She breathed deeply. “Mr. Fletcher, will you be coming back?”

He stopped outside the reception room, and they faced each other. “It’s . . . not as simple as that, but I will, if I can.”

Her smile slowly faded. “There is much mystery about you, Mr. Fletcher. I fear . . .”

The reception-room door burst open, and Mason Blackwell, arm in arm with Mrs. Fisher, waltzed right past them.

“Where are they going?” Angelina asked

Salila!

Angelina pressed her temples. She was hearing voices in her head more and more. “Stellan? Did you just say . . .”

“I believe your fiancé is showing Mrs. Fisher to her room.”

“How considerate.” The man she was engaged to couldn’t care less about her, and the one who turned her world upside down was leaving, with no foreseeable return. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Fletcher, I really must retire.”

Before he could reply, her father threw open the reception-room door. “Mr. Fletcher, there you are! Come! I must show you those alternate designs, as promised.”

Angelina and Stellan exchanged a lingering look until she whispered good night and headed up the stairs. It was beyond her ability to resist glancing into the guest room as she passed. Mason lay facedown on the bed, apparently unconscious, boots being pulled off by his valet. She shook her head and entered the comfort of her own room. Jeanie was fluffing pillows and turning down her bed.

“Whatever was I thinking,” Angelina said, and flopped into the overstuffed chair by the window.

“About what, Miss?”

“Either of them!” But in her mind, she felt Stellan’s warm touch and caught the faint scent of the sea. As the sensations engulfed her, she let the tears fall silently down her cheeks.

Chapter Five

3:00 A.M.

Tuesday, April 17, 1906

A KNOCK ON the door jolted her awake. Before she could say a word, it creaked open, then closed with a soft snick. Angelina held her breath, feeling the presence in her room. The hairs on her arms lifted, and chills zipped down her spine. His presence engulfed her. Stellan . . . She knew it was he.

I wanted to make sure you were alright. He came to the edge of her bed and stood there, looking down at her, just as he had when she’d washed up on the beach. The window shade must have been left up because she could see him clearly. He was luminous in the moonlight, his eyes deep and penetrating.

You’re so thoughtful. Angelina sat up, letting the covers slide down. She wore a sky blue satin nightgown, one sent to her by a cousin in Paris. Her mother thought it completely improper, so Angelina wore it often.

I can think of nothing but you, Angelina. He had taken off his vest and tie, letting them fall to the floor. When she looked up again, his shirt was gone, and there in the moonlight, for a brief moment, her mind went to another vision, in which a beautiful naked body was leaning over her. Is this a dream?

It’s whatever you want it to be, Angelina.

The thought made her smile for the impropriety, Stellan in her bedroom in the wee hours of the night, shirtless . . . She looked again. Naked! It was both shocking and thrilling. Something nagged in the back of her mind, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it was.

Angelina . . . His voice caressed her, and she shivered.

I was hoping you would come. She opened her arms, and a moment later, he was wrapped in them. The warmth of his body embraced her as heat rushed to her limbs. He pulled her into his lap and tilted her chin. Angelina’s lips parted in a smile. He smelled like a fresh sea breeze.

What is it about you that has captured me so completely? His lips closed over hers in the softest of kisses. She twined her legs around his back, wanting to get closer, wanting nothing to come between them. As the kiss deepened, she felt sweat prickle down her spine. For long moments, they shared the intimacy, barely able to stop for breath. She drank him in, astonished by her building hunger. Stellan answered her need, kissing her more fiercely. He slipped the satin straps off her shoulders, exposing her round, ample breasts. She called out when he suckled her, one breast, then the other. Dampness spread between her legs. In that moment, the world fell away, and Angelina couldn’t imagine a place where her body ended and his began.

Stellan held her tight, lifting her up as he lay back, his head at the foot of the bed. Angelina straddled him, kissing his neck, his checks, his hard abs. He groaned as she grasped his shaft, rock hard, with skin soft as silk. Angelina . . . His voice was deep and husky.

She laughed and covered his mouth with her hand to smother the moans.

He sat up, kissing her smile. Two can play that game! Before she could answer, he flipped her onto her back, pushed her hands over her head, and, excruciatingly slowly, kissed and sucked and licked his way to her mound. When his tongue found the folds between her now-parted legs and the hot moisture there, they both cried out. She grabbed his long hair as he thrilled her, again and again.

Stellan! she called like a wolf to the moon. Stellan, Stellan Stellan!

He ran his tongue up over her mound, her belly, her breasts. He kissed her face, her eyelids, her earlobes, and as his lips touched the fullness of her wet mouth, he pushed slowly into the heat between her legs. She called out again, hands digging into his back.

Open your eyes, he said.

Angelina looked up at him and for moments, like years passing, they stared into each other’s depths. She began to rock beneath him, and he matched her rhythm, plunging deeper with every thrust. His eyes never left hers as he bellowed his pleasure into the night, his whole body shuddering.

Angelina tucked damp strands of hair behind his ears and traced the contours of his face. Stellan . . . Don’t leave me. Ever.

I won’t. He hesitated a moment, opened his mouth, and sank his fangs into her neck.

4:45 A.M.

Wednesday, April 18, 1906

STELLAN LEFT ANGELINA’S room and closed the door behind him. The house was asleep, his footfalls dead quiet. He thought of her lying there, wrapped in a black-and-red-embroidered silk dressing gown, her body glowing from their passion as she drifted off to sleep. It was almost impossible to walk away. How could he leave her? How could he stay? For her to join him was to ask the unthinkable. But the blood bond. It would never be broken, at least it never could be between Mar. He wondered at his sister. Had it happened to her all those centuries ago? It might explain a few things, but if it was any indication of the outcome for a Mar-human coupling, it didn’t bode well. Salila had lost her man, and it had left her more than a little jaded. No! It can’t be like that for me and Angelina. Stellan went down the hall, each thought wrestling with the other. He’d said his good-byes; he only wished she would remember them when she woke.

The smell of fresh blood halted his thoughts. He sniffed the air, the aroma rushing through his nostrils and tickling the back of his throat. It led him farther down the hall to Mason Blackwell’s door. Salila? He tried the handle, but it was locked. She wouldn’t . . . A loud thump sounded, and he shouldered in. It took him a moment to register the scene.

The room pulsed in the glow of soft candlelight. The bed was rumpled, the covers thrown back. On the floor was Salila’s evening gown. The Mar woman hunched naked over a dazed, and equally naked, Blackwell.

In a blink, Stellan was there. He pulled her up and slammed her against the closet. Salila! Stop!

She flung hair out of her face and snarled. Faster than humanly possible he flipped her to the ground and pinned her down, his teeth grating against her ear. “Listen to me, sister, and listen carefully. You’re going to get up, gather your things, and leave. In that order and nothing else.”

“What is the problem with you?” She ground out the words into the carpet. “He was willing!”

“He was extremely drunk!”

She sighed, relaxing. “You do know how to ruin a good night, don’t you.”

“I’m not joking, Salila! You have to leave.”

Let me up. She growled. Someone’s coming.

Damn . . . As Stellan released her, there was a knock at the door. It squeaked open, and Angelina appeared. Her face was momentarily soft in the candlelight until she took in the scene. “Mr. Fletcher, what is going on here?”

“Shall I show you?” Salila sprang at Angelina. Stellan grabbed the Mar woman and hurled her to the other side of the room. By then, Jeanie and Mrs. Ralston were at the door, gasping, then screaming.

Get out of here! Now! Stellan roared into Salila’s mind. And put some clothes on! He threw the top sheet over Mason as the man tried to sit up. His hand clutched his neck.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. “Nobody move!” Mr. Ralston’s voice boomed as a rifle was cocked. He burst in on them, let out an oath, and leveled his rifle at Stellan. Salila got behind him.

“Don’t shoot,” Angelina cried out. She moved directly in front of the gun.

“Get out of my way!” he shouted at her.

Mrs. Ralston grabbed her daughter and handed her off to Gerald, who stood near the door, eyes wide, his usual reserve abandoned. Mrs. Blackwell pushed past him into the room, and the screams began again.

“We’re so sorry to have caused a disturbance,” Stellan said, as he and Salila backed toward the window.

Mr. Ralston looked from the bed, to the floor, to Salila. At that moment, Mason slumped, the bite wounds obvious as his head lolled to the side. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot!” Ralston said.

Salila broke for the door, and Mr. Ralston squeezed the trigger.

“No, Father!” Angelina yelled.

Faster than the human eye could follow, Stellan dove for Salila. He rolled with her and flung them both backward out the window, ahead of the bullet. They slammed hard into the ground, glass shattering around them like ice. Stellan released her, jumped to his feet, and ran toward the sea.

5:00 A.M.

Wednesday, April 18, 1906

ANGELINA’S HANDS SHOOK as she sipped her tea. Jeanie tried to pour more, but she nearly dropped the pot.

“It’s alright, Jeanie. Sit down.”

“I mustn’t, Miss.”

“This is not the time for propriety. Sit down. I insist.”

“Thank you, Miss.” The young maid sat on the edge of the parlor chair and looked at her hands.

Angelina got Jeanie a cup and filled it for her. “You’ve a right to be as distraught as the rest of us.”

Her maid took a deep breath. “I agree it was no small horror. What a scene! The gunshot was earsplitting. I was sure Mr. Fletcher and Mrs. Fisher would be splattered on the pavement, but . . .”

“They were nowhere to be found.”

“I’ve never seen a man altogether nude. Quite startling.” She glanced at Angelina. “Does this mean the engagement is off?” Jeanie asked.

Angelina pushed her long hair back from her face. “Let’s not speculate on that topic right now, shall we, Jeanie.”

“Sorry, Miss.” Her maid blushed.

Angelina nodded and sipped her tea.

The police had arrived and questioned everyone. They were upstairs now with her father and Dr. Medleys, and a very confused Mason Blackwell, who seemed to remember nothing but a knock at his door in the wee hours of the night. She frowned. Stellan was in the room. He and his sister ran . . .

But Stellan couldn’t have been involved, she argued with herself.

Then what was he doing there in the first place?

He must have heard a noise, same as I . . .

Are you sure? Images of Stellan falling backward out the window flashed again into her mind. How could he survive and run away. Her most troubling question was, When will I see him again.

“I can’t stand this!” Angelina stood up.

Jeanie jumped as if prodded. “Miss?”

“There’s too much whirling in my head. I’m going to my darkroom if anyone needs me.”