“I don’t trust you.”

“Balthazar’s been poisoning your mind against me, hasn’t he?” His fingers brushed through the damp curls of Balthazar’s hair, almost fondly. The gesture reminded her of a father with his little boy. “He has his grudges. And his reasons, I suppose. But you must have learned by now that, when it comes to the world of vampires, good and evil can become rather … relative.”

“You broke in my house!”

“To talk,” Redgrave insisted. “You don’t believe me, of course. Well, let’s strike a deal. I’ll help you hoist the formidable Mr. More onto the back of your horse and let you both depart, safe and sound. In his case, also frozen, but don’t worry. He’ll thaw.”

Skye hesitated. “What do I owe you in return?”

“One conversation. You and I, with nobody else present—and that includes Balthazar. And instead of spending all your time talking about what a blackguard I am, you’ll listen. Really listen.” He leaned still closer, and two of his fingers curled around one tendril of her brown hair that had shaken free from the helmet. “Is that so unfair?”

There had to be more to it. She knew that. But what could she do?

“Hurry, Skye. You can’t yet hear the others approaching, but I can. Perhaps it’s Constantia and Charity, who are loyal to me and won’t touch you without my permission—but perhaps it’s not.”

“Well—when do we have this talk? And where?” She was stalling now; it was obvious that he knew it.

Teasingly, he singsonged, “I will choose the time, and I will choose the place. And for once you’ll be a good girl and hear me out. Are we agreed? Choose now, before I change my mind and my offer.”

Skye swallowed hard. “Agreed. Now help me.”

“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” But Redgrave scooped his arms around Balthazar and lifted him as easily as he could have done Skye herself. She went to Eb and took the reins, soothing him through the placement of the heavy, unfamiliar burden on his back. Balthazar lay unconscious, stomach down, behind her saddle before Redgrave stepped away. “Until we meet again, Skye, I’d like you to remember one thing.”

Hands still on the reins, Skye said, “What’s that?”

“You were in grave danger today, and it wasn’t Balthazar who saved you.”

Redgrave took one step back, and then seemed to melt into the underbrush—running away so quickly, so inhumanly fast, that his afterimage seemed to linger after he did. Skye didn’t stay to find out who else might approach; she swung up into the saddle instantly, thinking only of Balthazar and home.

Peppermint had already found her way back to the stables and stood there outside the door, blinking sleepily.

“You saved your own butt pretty quickly, huh, fatso?” Skye said “fatso” as fondly as it was possible to; she’d been half convinced the old mare had been devoured by frustrated vampires and was grateful to see her. Peppermint had been Dakota’s, after all. Skye wanted to keep something of his safe. Maybe she should nail a couple of crucifixes up in the stables.

She managed to haul Balthazar down well enough. He was beginning to regain consciousness. Though he couldn’t speak, and still didn’t seem to understand her, he tried to balance on his feet as she guided him to the nearby garden bench. As soon as she let go, he slumped back again, but she now knew she could get him upstairs.

Quickly Skye guided the horses into their stalls, grabbed her cell phone, and begged Mrs. Lefler to come over and see to them. Family emergency, she claimed. Fortunately, Mrs. Lefler didn’t ask, just promised to be there within five minutes. Skye stroked Eb’s nose in apology for leaving him wet even for that long, then went back to Balthazar.

Once his muscular arm was draped around her shoulders, she could guide him through the house. By now he had started to talk … sort of.

“Redgrave.”

“That’s right. He was in the woods.” He came after us, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t the truth, was it? And Skye couldn’t bring herself to say, he saved us, even though that appeared to be the case. “Come on. We’ve got to warm you up.”

She brought him to her room. Although her parents weren’t expected back until after midnight, as usual, the one time they’d get home early probably would be when she had a semiconscious man laid out on the sofa. Once they were up there, Skye wasn’t sure what to do until she glanced at the door of her bathroom. “Let’s get you undressed.”

“Wait.” Balthazar pushed away her hands. “Shouldn’t.”

“I’m not molesting you. I’m putting you in a hot shower. You can’t do it yourself.” Skye tugged off his wet coat, then got to work unbuttoning his shirt. The damp fabric stuck to his skin. “I’ve seen a na**d man before, you know. I’m not a virgin. My eyes aren’t going to fall out in astonishment or anything.”

Balthazar didn’t argue any further, but as she got down to yank off his boots (cold river water dribbling out of them), she noticed that he clumsily saw to his own belt and jeans. But as he stripped them off—

Okay, she thought. Deep breaths. Yeah, she’d seen Craig naked, and Craig was a hot guy, but Balthazar was—like a statue, something else perfect—

Skye managed to tear her eyes away long enough to get the shower running. The water ran hot right away, clouds of steam billowing around her, and her red, raw hands stung at the mere presence of heat. Really, she needed a hot shower, too, but climbing in with a na**d Balthazar—that would definitely undo her “no molestation” promise.