Gabriel walked behind Sara and Maurice, his eyes and ears attuned to every drifting shadow, every sound. His senses told him that no one was following them. He detected no trace of a supernatural being, and yet he knew, somehow he knew, that Nina was nearby.

His gaze narrowed as he stared at Maurice's back, wondering if he would have to destroy the man once the danger to Sara was past. Or if, by some slim chance, Maurice would destroy him.

He could feel Maurice's hatred, his distrust and revulsion, but stronger than those emotions was the man's jealousy.

But it wasn't Maurice who held his attention. It was Sara. She moved with innate grace, her gown flowing around her ankles, the moonlight shimmering in her hair. He had tried not to love her, had tried to stay away from her, but to no avail, and now he knew he would not let her go. He had told her she must decide whether she would stay with him or not, but should she decide to leave him, he had no intention of letting her go. Right or wrong, willing or not, she would be his for as long as she lived.

Sara unlocked the door to her apartment, then stood on the top step with Maurice while Gabriel went inside to make sure the house was empty.

A moment later, he motioned them inside.

Sara went from room to room, turning on lights. When she returned to the parlor, Maurice was sitting on the sofa. Gabriel was standing before the hearth, one arm braced against the mantel. She could feel the tension vibrating between them.

"Would either of you care for a cup of..." She looked at Gabriel and smiled sheepishly. "Tea?"

"I'd like a cup," Maurice said.

"Gabriel, would you like a glass of wine?"

"No."

She glanced from one man to the other, wondering if it was safe to leave them in the room together and then, with a shrug, she went into the kitchen and filled the teapot with water.

Maurice slipped his hand into his coat pocket, feeling a sense of relief as his fingers closed over the crucifix. "She's going to marry me," he said.

"Is she?"

"Yes."

"I don't think so."

"You can't keep her with you. It isn't natural. What kind of life can she have with a..."

"Monster?" Gabriel supplied softly, his eyes narrowing ominously.

"Exactly! She's a young woman. She deserves more out of life than you can give her."

"Perhaps."

Maurice's hand tightened around the cross. "Leave her alone."

"You're a fool, Delacroix. She's mine. She's always been mine."

"You won't have her!" Maurice stood up. "Do you hear me, vampire? You will not have her!"

"Who's going to stop me? You?"

"Gabriel! Maurice! Stop it!"

"Tell him, Sara Jayne. Tell him you're going to marry me."

"Maurice..."

"Tell him!"

"I..." She bit down on her lower lip as she glanced from one man to the other. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do."

"So that's the way it is," Maurice said heavily.

"I'm sorry, Maurice. Right now I can't think of the future. For all we know, I might not even have a future."

"Nina won't have you, cara," Gabriel said quietly. He crossed the room. Taking the tea tray from her trembling hands, he thrust it at Maurice. "Go to bed, Sara."

Sleep. Suddenly all she wanted to do was sleep, to forget everything, if only for a little while. Without a word, she went into the bedroom and closed the door.

"You should get some rest, too," Gabriel told Maurice. "You'll have to keep an eye on Sara tomorrow."

Maurice placed the tray on the side table and poured himself a cup of tea. He stared at Gabriel over the rim of the cup. "Who's going to protect me from you while Isleep?"

"You have nothing to fear from me," Gabriel replied, "though killing you would be sweet indeed."

"That makes me feel a lot better," Maurice muttered. He set the empty cup on the tray and then, with a last glance at Gabriel, he went into the spare bedroom and shut the door.

A wry grin twisted Gabriel's lips as he heard Maurice turn the key in the lock. Foolish mortal, he mused, to think he was safe behind that flimsy wooden door.

Restless, he paced the room, the smell of garlic strong in his nostrils. He stared at his palm, noting that the burn from touching Maurice's crucifix was still raw and red.

Garlic and holy water, sunlight and silver crosses - such ordinary things, and yet they had the power to weaken him, to destroy him.

With a start, he stared toward the window. And there, deep in the shadows of the night, he sensed the presence of another immortal.

Antonina.

Yes, Giovanni, I am here.

Leave her. Leave this place.

He sensed her smile, knew she could feel his gut-wrenching fear - fear for Sara's life, for his own.

I shall have my revenge, Gianni. She shall suffer for days, but your suffering shall last for eternity.

Nina!

Too late, Giovanni. You should not have refused me. I wanted only to give you one night of pleasure. Now she shall have many nights of pain. And you will feel what she feels, Gianni. That will be my revenge.

Nina, wait...

But she was gone.

Cursing himself, cursing Nina, he went into Sara's bedroom, needing to see her, to ascertain that she was all right.

He stared down at her for a long while. Lying there in her high-necked white sleeping gown, with her golden hair spread across the pillow, she looked like an angel newly fallen to earth. Her goodness, her generosity of spirit, made him ache for things that were forever lost to him.

Needing desperately to hold her, to touch her, if only for a moment, he slid under the covers and drew her into his arms.

She stirred at his touch. "Gabriel?"

"Go back to sleep, cara," he whispered.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, love. I just wanted to hold you."

With a sigh, she snuggled against him, her arms stealing around his waist, her legs entwining with his.

He closed his eyes, reveling in her nearness. Her scent filled his nostrils; the warmth of her touch filled the emptiness in his soul, chasing away the darkness. He needed her touch, he thought, needed it to survive as surely as he needed to quench the hunger that damned him.

But there was no thought of taking her as he held her in his arms, only a sense of peace.

Sara... He'd known her such a short time, less than a quarter of a century. Twenty-one years, a mere moment of his existence compared to the centuries he had walked the earth. And yet, of all the years he'd known, he treasured the ones he'd spent with Sara above all others.

He felt her gaze moving over his face, her hand delving under his shirt to explore his chest in ever-widening circles.

Opening his eyes, he saw her staring at him, her expression open and vulnerable.

"Love me," she whispered. "Please, Gabriel, I need you to hold me. I'm so afraid."

And so, he thought, was he. More afraid than he'd ever been in his life. How could he go on existing if Nina destroyed the fragile creature in his arms? How would he ever live with the guilt?

With a low groan, he buried his hands in the wealth of her hair and then, slowly and deliberately, he covered her mouth with his. Her tongue met his like a streak of living flame, spreading light and heat through every inch of his body, every fiber of his being. He clutched her to him, his need for her, his fear for her, overriding any thought of gentleness. She was his woman. Right or wrong, she was his and he would defy the heat of the sun or the fires of hell to protect her.

With a low growl that was nearly a sob, he buried himself within her, sheathing himself in satin sweetness, wanting to pleasure her as she was pleasuring him. And yet he knew she would never fully understand what her love meant to him, nor could he ever hope to give back as much as he received. She was warm and alive, vital and vibrant; her very touch made him feel alive. Her trust, her nearness, meant so much more to him than the brief joining of their flesh.

Later, as the moon faded from the sky, Giovanni Ognibene gazed at the woman in his arms, and for the first time in over three centuries, he felt that he was more man than monster.