They stayed in London another two weeks, and then returned to Millbrae.

Rhianna felt a growing sense of anticipation as the carriage climbed the long, fog-shrouded hill to the castle. Once, the fortress had loomed cold and forbidding; now it was home.

Rayven helped her from the carriage, his gaze sweeping over the grounds. He had taken residence in a great many lands in the last four centuries; of them all, Devil Tree Mountain and its stark castle had always been his favorite abode, and yet he had never thought of Castle Rayven as home until now. Until Rhianna.

Swinging Rhianna into his arms, he opened the front door and carried her into the hall. "Welcome home, Lady Rhianna."

Rhianna laughed softly as he carried her down the corridor into the study.

The weeks they had spent in London had been wonderful. It had, she thought, been the best time of her entire life. She had slept at Rayven's side during the day, toured the theaters and concert halls with him in the evening.

Twice she had talked him into taking her blood, not just a sip, but enough to soothe his hunger. He had not wanted to, had argued against it, but, in the end, she had convinced him it was something she needed to do, wanted to do. And because he hated to deny her anything in his power, he had relented. The experience had left her feeling weak as a newborn babe, but she had found a deep satisfaction in nourishing him with her life's essence.

Setting her on her feet, Rayven dropped a kiss on her forehead; then, with a glance, he lit the lamps and started a fire in the hearth.

He could hear Bevins moving through the house, carrying their trunk and then Rhianna's valise into the tower room, making another trip to the carriage to unload the things she had purchased for her family.

Rhianna stood in front of the fireplace, shivering against the chill in the room, until Rayven put his arms around her, drawing her into the deep silken folds of his cloak.

With a sigh of contentment, she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. This was where she wanted to be, where she belonged.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Not really." She wrapped her arms around him, wanting to be closer, wishing she could climb inside his heart and soul and discover the secrets he refused to share.

"Hungry?" He stroked her hair lightly, all his senses vibrantly attuned to her nearness.

"No." She drew back a little so she could see his face. "Are you?"

He smiled down at her, his eyes filled with such love that it made her heart skip a beat.

"No." He had taken her blood twice in the last two weeks. He dared not take more so soon, nor was there any need.

At first, he had refused to drink from her. It was one thing to savor her sweetness in the throes of passion, another to take enough of her precious blood to still the hunger that burned within him. In the end, because he found it impossible to deny her anything within his power, he had done as she asked.

Savoring the sweetness of her blood had made him realize anew just how much he had loathed the blood of sheep.

It was difficult now to remember that he had bought her for the sole purpose of satisfying his hunger.

Miraculously, a few sips of her precious blood pacified his hunger far more effectively than had the blood of countless other women, women whose names and faces he could no longer recall.

"Will you be needing anything else tonight?" Bevins asked.

Rayven shook his head.

"Would you mind if I..." Bevins cleared his throat. "Would you mind if I took the carriage this evening?"

"Of course not," Rayven said, then frowned. "Where are you going?"

"I..." Bevins cleared his throat. "I thought I'd go look in on Mistress McLeod."

Rhianna glanced over her shoulder. "You're going to see my mother?"

"If you've no objection, milady?"

"No, of course not," Rhianna said.

"I, uh..." Bevins ran a finger around the inside of his collar. "I just thought perhaps she might like to know you're well."

"Of course," Rhianna said. "Give her my love. And tell her I'll be by to see her soon."

"I'll do that," Bevins said. "Good night, my lord. Lady Rhianna." With a slight bow, he left the room.

"Well," Rhianna said, "what do you make of that?"

Rayven shook his head. For the first time, it occurred to him that he had thoughtlessly condemned Bevins to endure the same lonely life he himself had lived.

"It was never my intention to rob Tom of a normal life," he remarked. "And yet that is what I've done. I spent so much time worrying about protecting my own existence, I never gave any thought to how lonely he must have been all these years."

"You had good reason to worry, my lord," Rhianna said.

Rayven shook his head. "It was wrong of me. Why did I not realize it sooner?"

Ada McLeod blinked in surprise when she saw Tom Bevins standing at her door. Her first thought was that something had happened to Rhianna.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What's that monster done to my daughter?"

"Miss Rhianna is quite well, madam."

"Thank the Lord." She peered over Bevins's shoulder. "Did she come with you?"

"No, Mistress McLeod. I, uh, I just wanted to come by and assure you that she is well, and..." He tugged at his collar, then cleared his throat. "Quite well."

"Would you care to come in and sit a spell, Mr. Bevins?" Ada asked, alarmed by the sudden flush in his cheeks.

"Yes, thank you, madam."

"Come along, then."

Bevins followed her into the kitchen, sat down at the table at her invitation.

"Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Bevins?"

"Yes, thank you."

Lifting a pot from the fire, Ada filled two cups. She placed one in front of Bevins, then sat down across from him. She didn't feel comfortable having the man in her house, but she was eager to hear news of her daughter. "Sugar?" she asked. "Milk?"

"No, thank you, madam."

"Now, then, sir, what brings you here at this late hour?"

"I was wondering if I might have permission to, uh..."

"To what?"

"I should very much like to call on you, Mistress McLeod."

"Call on me?" Ada stared at him in disbelief. She was forty years old and the mother of five children.

Long past the age when men came courting.

"Yes, madam."

Ada folded her hands in her lap, her cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, Mistress McLeod."

Ada shook her head. "I can't allow you to come calling, Mr. Bevins."

"I see." He shook his head. "No, I don't see. I thought, that is... Why not?"

Ada lifted her chin and met his gaze squarely. "I have no liking for the man who employs you. I don't trust him. He's evil. He has bewitched my daughter."

Bevins shook his head. "Mistress McLeod, I assure you that the rumors you've heard about my master are false."

"I think not. There's something peculiar about him." She shook her head. "I know not what it is, but I know he's not like other men."

Bevins let out a sigh of resignation.

"You admit it, then?"

"My lord's ways may seem strange to you, Mistress McLeod, but he is a good man."

"I've heard nothing of his goodness."

"The stories told in the village are lies," Bevins said, wondering how to steer the subject away from his master.

"They can't all be lies," Ada argued. "And even if they are, it's been my experience that most lies are based on an element of truth. There's something odd about him, I'm thinking, something that doesn't ring true. I've lived in the valley all my life, and never once have I seen that man in the village in the light of day, nor has anyone else that I know of. 'Tis an evil man who shuns the light, who has no friends." She stared into her tea cup, sadness dragging at her features. "I fear for my daughter's well-being."

Bevins fidgeted in his chair. "Mistress McLeod, my Lord Rayven may not live like other men, but he loves your daughter, and while she lives with him, no harm will befall her. I can promise you that."

"You're very loyal."

"He saved my life many years ago."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, madam." Bevins stood up. "I'm sorry to have troubled you, Mistress McLeod."

"Good evening to you, sir."

Bevins started toward the door, then turned back, knowing if he didn't speak now, he would never have the courage to do so again.

"Mistress McLeod, I came here tonight because..." He took a deep breath and finished in a rush,

"Because I'm lonely, and I thought maybe, if you were lonely, too, you wouldn't mind my company. I know you don't approve of my master, but can you not look past that and judge me on my own merits?"

Ada blinked up at him, somewhat taken aback by his impassioned declaration. "I don't know what to say."

"I should be getting back," Bevins said, his courage deserting him as quickly as it had come. "My lady said to tell you she will be coming to visit you very soon."

"Thank you," Ada said. Rising, she followed Bevins out of the kitchen to the front door of the cottage.

"Give Rhianna my love."

"Yes, I will."

"Mr. Bevins?"

"Yes, madam?"

"I should be honored to have you call on me."

Bevins bowed from the waist. "It will be my pleasure, madam."

Ada stared after him, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Tom Bevins knew a great deal about Castle Rayven and its dark lord. If she was careful and clever, she might yet learn the secrets that lay hidden within the mist-shrouded walls of the castle.

"He's home," Rayven said.

Rhianna glanced up from the embroidery in her lap, her eyes filled with curiosity. "I didn't hear anything."

Rayven smiled; a moment later, Bevins entered the study.

"Yes, my lord?"

"I believe Rhianna wishes to talk to you."

"Yes, milady?

Rhianna looked at her husband. He was watching her, his dark eyes alight with mischief.

"I was just wondering if all is well at home."

Bevins nodded. "Quite well, milady."

"Won't you sit down, Tom?" Rhianna asked, gesturing at the chair across from Rayven.

"No, thank you, milady."

"Did you have a nice visit with my mother?"

"Yes, milady. She said..." Tom cleared his throat. "She said I might call on her again."

Rhianna met Rayven's amused glance.

"That is, if you have no objection, milady."

"No, of course not." Rhianna smiled at Bevins. "I think you and my mother suit rather well."

"Thank you, milady. Will either of you be needing anything further this evening?"

"No," Rayven said, answering for them both. "You may retire."

"Thank you, my lord." Bevins bowed, then left the room.

"Is he always so formal?" Rhianna asked.

Rayven nodded. "Why do you ask?"

"The two of you have been together so long, it just seems strange, that's all. I'd think you'd be friends by now."

"I made it clear from the beginning that I would not welcome his friendship."

"Oh? why?"

"I've let no one close to me since I became Vampyre," he replied quietly. "No one, but you."

Rising from her chair, Rhianna went to sit in his lap. "I wish I could make you forget the past," she whispered, caressing his cheek. "I wish I could make you happy."

"You make me happy, beloved," he replied. "Never doubt that for a moment."

"How can I help it, when you always look so sad?"

He smiled faintly. "Do I?"

Rhianna nodded. "You try to hide it from me, but I can see it in your eyes, even now. What is it that troubles you so, my lord husband?"

With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, his face pressing against the warmth of her breasts. What hurt more? he wondered. The thought that he would soon have to release her from her vows? The certainty that she would one day marry another? Or the knowledge that she would grow old and die while he stayed forever as he was?

"My lord?"

He took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the warm sweet scent of her perfume, her hair, her skin, the blood that was the very essence of her being. Hunger and need stirred to life within him.

"Rhianna?" Her name whispered past his lips, soft as a sigh.

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Yes, my lord?"

His hands slid down her back as he cursed the darkness within him, the hunger that made him weak. He wondered how she could love him when he asked so much of her and gave so little in return.

Rhianna drew back a little so she could see his face. "Rayven?"

"I need you."

Smiling, she tilted her head to the side, then swept her hair over her shoulder, baring her throat. "Then take what you need, my lord."

He rose from the chair in one smooth, effortless motion, carrying her with him as if she weighed less than nothing at all.

"I need more than that, my sweet Rhianna," he replied, his voice rough with emotion.

He brushed his lips over hers, then carried her swiftly up the dark winding staircase, his cloak billowing out behind him like the devil's breath.

It was obvious early on that Bevins had fallen in love with Rhianna's mother. His step was lighter, and he smiled frequently for no apparent reason. And every Friday evening he asked Rayven if he might borrow the carriage on Saturday night.

"Mayhap we'll have another wedding soon," Rayven mused as they lingered at the dinner table one night.

"Maybe," Rhianna replied dubiously. Bevins had been seeing her mother once a week for over three months now.

"You don't think so?"

Rhianna made a vague gesture with her hand. "I think... That is, it doesn't seem as though..." She shook her head, not certain how to say what she was thinking.

"Go on."

"I think she's using him."

Rayven frowned. "Using Bevins? To what end?"

"Never mind."

"Tell me, Rhianna."

There was no way to ignore that tone of voice, or the look in his eye.

"Well, we both know she's never liked you. Or trusted you. She's heard all the gossip. I think she's seeing Bevins because she's hoping hell tell her..." She glanced at the delicate crystal goblet in Rayven's hand. "You know."

"I see," Rayven remarked, and wondered why the possibility had not occurred to him sooner.

He placed the glass on the table, then leaned back, his elbows braced on the arms of the chair, his chin resting on his folded hands. He regarded Rhianna thoughtfully for a long moment. "What do you think I should do about it?"

"I don't know. Perhaps we should leave here."

"Do you want to leave?"

Rhianna shook her head. "No."

Her family was here, the only family she had. The only family she would ever have should Rayven let her stay on when their year was ended.

"And if Bevins should betray my trust, do you think your mother would believe him?"

A slight smile played over Rhianna's lips. "I think my mother would believe you were the very Devil himself, my lord husband."

"And what do you think, my sweet?"

The smile faded from Rhianna's lips. "What do you mean?"

He hated himself for asking, hated the doubts that continued to plague him. "You have lived with me here now for six months. I have taken your innocence, the very essence of your life. If I were to give you leave to go, would you take it?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "Do you still doubt me, my lord? Why can you not believe in my love, in me?"

A fleeting image of Rhianna and Montroy dancing together flashed through Rayven's mind, two mortals, vibrant with life, radiating health and youth and strength.

He lowered his arms, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap as he imagined his bride and the viscount together, hating the idea even as he admitted that they looked as though they belonged together.

Montroy loved Rhianna. He could give her everything she wanted and needed, everything she deserved.

A home, a family, and a title all wrapped up in wealth and respectability.

Rhianna watched the emotions that flickered over Rayven's usually impassive face. She saw the doubts that continued to plague him. She had loved him without reservation, had offered him her heart and soul, the very blood that flowed through her veins, and it wasn't enough. How could they ever have a life together if he refused to accept the love she offered?

Rising, she tossed her napkin on the table and ran out of the room, out of the castle.

Outside, she stared into the darkness, then ran down the garden path that led to the maze.

He would never believe she loved him, never believe that he was worthy of her affection. When the time came, he would send her away. She had hoped to make him love her so deeply that he would let her stay with him as long as she lived. Only now did she realize how foolish that hope was. Why would he want to watch her grow old and bent? Her skin would wrinkle, her hair would turn gray, yet he would remain forever as he was, young and virile, with a young man's desires.

She was breathless when she reached the heart of the maze. There was a burning ache in her side.

Gasping for air, she dropped down onto the stone bench and buried her face in her hands.

"Rhianna."

Her head jerked up, startled to find him standing before her, a tall silhouette clad in the darkness of the night. "How... how did you... get here so... fast?"

One dark brow rose in amusement. "How indeed?"

Of course, she thought. He was Vampyre. A child of the night. Able to travel with preternatural speed.

He knelt before her, his cloak fluttering as it settled gracefully around him. "I love you, Rhianna," he said, taking her hands in his. "With every fiber of my being, every breath in my body, I love you."

"But you don't believe that I love you in return."

"I don't deserve your love."

"But you have it just the same."

"I know." He smiled, a sad smile touched with bitterness. "It's a heavy burden to bear."

"A burden?" The hurt in her eyes ripped his heart to shreds.

He nodded. "I should never have brought you here, never have touched you." He stroked her cheek, let his fingertips slide down the graceful curve of her throat. "It pains me to love you, to know that I will soon have to let you go." He took a deep breath. "To know that someday you will marry a man worthy of your love and bear his children."

Rhianna shook her head. "It doesn't have to be that way."

"Ah, but it does, my sweet. Your nearness sorely tempts me. It's wrong for me to keep you here, to make you live in shadow. You need to live as you were meant to live, and I..." He stared at the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat. "For too long I have denied what I am."

"Rayven, don't." She clasped his hands to her breast, frightened by the hopelessness she saw in his eyes, by the resignation in his voice.

She's mortal. Take her. Take what you want. What you need.

He drew back, fighting the hunger rising within him, fighting the longing to drink and drink and drink, until he was drunk with the taste of her, admitting, for the first time, that he had been playing a dangerous game. He had fooled himself into thinking he had conquered the hunger.

He had consumed the blood of sheep and told himself all was well.

He had bought young women and kept them in the castle, drinking from them while they slept, sending them away when he had taken all they could spare.

He had taken frugal sips of Rhianna's blood and applauded himself for his self-control.

And all the while he had been lying to himself, telling himself that he was no longer a monster because he no longer killed to survive.

He looked at Rhianna, burning like a flame in the darkness of his mind. Need and hunger rose up within him, hot and swift as lava exploding from a volcano. He tried to fight it, and knew that, this time, he was not strong enough. Knew if he took her now, he would destroy her and in so doing, destroy himself as well.

"My lord? Rayven? Are you well?"

"I need Bevins."

"My lord, are you ill?" She gazed into his face, alarmed by the feverish brightness of his eyes, the harsh rasp of his breathing, the taut line of his jaw.

"Bevins." Grimacing with pain, he rocked back on his heels, his fists tightly clenched. "Bevins!"

Rhianna stared at him, her heart pounding with fear. His cloak wrapped tightly around him, a cocoon of thick black velvet and silk. In the pale light cast by the moon, she could see that the material rippled gently over his back and shoulders, as though trying to comfort him.

Frightened by what she was seeing, she stood up. She whirled around at the sound of footsteps, breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Bevins running toward them.

"What's happened?" he asked.

Rhianna shook her head. "I don't know."

Bevins took one look at Rayven, then dropped to his knees beside him. "Go back to the house, milady,"

he said as he rolled up his sleeve. "Go. Now."

"No." She shook her head. "I want to help."

Bevins looked up and met her worried gaze. "It's what he wants," Bevins said quietly.

She wanted to argue, to beg Rayven to turn to her for help. If he needed nourishment, she wanted to be the one to provide it. She wanted to cry out at the unfairness of it all, at what he was.

"Rhi... anna. Go." His voice was raw, stretched thin with the pain knifing through him. "Please go."

"Yes, my lord." She turned away, her vision blurred by tears she had not realized she was shedding.

Bevins waited until Rhianna was out of sight, then he thrust his arm in front of Rayven, grimaced as he felt the sharp bite of the vampyre's fangs pierce the tender skin along his wrist. He clenched his fist, wondering, as he always did when the madness came on his master, if Rayven would be able to stop feeding before it was too late.

Catching a glimpse of the blood lust burning like perdition's flames in the vampyre's eyes, Bevins turned away, knowing his master did not like him to watch, did not like anyone to see him when the hunger was fast upon him, when the thin veneer of humanity shattered beneath a need too great to ignore, a craving too powerful to resist.

It was a look Tom Bevins had seen before, when he lay dying in a dark alley over fifty years before.

A look that, once seen, was never to be forgotten.