Jesus, he was stupid.

Of course it was a goddamn dream. A subconscious, existential payback for what he’d left the Mrs. with back at that triplex.

Balz’s eyes went to his bureau. There, next to the lamp with the stained glass shade, still rocking back and forth as if they were babies in a crib who got fussy when they were trying to go to sleep, was the collection of the Mr.’s watches. All six of them. Right where Balz had left them.

So yup, all that shit at the Commodore with the safe and the Mrs. and those Banksys in the stairwell had happened—

Unease rippled up his spine.

Something else had happened, though. Something that had delayed him. Something that had interrupted his departure—

The image of the mystery female’s naked body, of her brunette hair and her dark eyes, of her incredible breasts, caused him to lock his molars—

Balz orgasmed hard, hot jets kicking out of his cock and landing on his thighs, his sheets, his lower abdomen, the streaks of come branding him. And as the release ripped through him, the woman was inside his room again, standing before him, her smile ancient, her body as nubile as one fresh out of the transition.

Except she was not a vampire. And she was not actually in front of him. His recollection of her was just that strong, though, every detail of her burned into his mind’s eye.

It was as if they had been lovers for years. In fact, he had the sense that this was not the first time she had made him come, but rather that they had been fucking all day long.

He was only remembering this particular—

Bang, bang, bang. “Balz! Are you dead? What the hell.”

Snapping to attention, he wrenched around to the door. Then he scrambled to pull the covers up and into his lap—where he held them in place like his erection was in danger of grabbing a top hat and a cane and tap-dancing off his pelvis.

Jesus, he was losing his fucking mind.

“Yeah, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m good.”

Syphon, his cousin, and the best assassin anyone knew, poked his head in. “We’ve got a meeting in Wrath’s study in five. And why weren’t you at First Meal. And I brought you food.”

The bastard tossed over a croissant wrapped in a dish towel and followed the carb bomb with a sealed travel mug. Balz caught one. Caught the other.

“Sugar and cream like you like it. Now get your ass out of bed. I’ll meet you in there.”

The door shut with a clap, the light that had streamed in from the corridor getting cut off, nothing but the glow from the loo seeping through the darkness once again.

Balz looked to where his shower was. Then shifted his eyes down to the dish towel and the travel mug.

Everything seemed exhausting, and he let himself fall back into the pillows. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and smelled his own arousal. Even though he was always good to go for a meeting with the Brothers, and in spite of the fact he’d pulled plenty of sleep over day, he really didn’t want to go anywhere.

Maybe just a couple more minutes of shut-eye.

Yeah, just a second or two. Then he would grab a shower, and eat his First Meal on the way down to the study. Yup. Just a little more—

Oh, who the fuck was he kidding.

All he wanted was more of that woman. He needed her again like he needed oxygen to survive.

Even if she was only a figment of his imagination.

Standing on the threshold of a stone cottage that belonged in a dollhouse catalogue, Sahvage waited to be invited inside for coffee. ’Cuz, you know, he was a gentlemale. A real stand-up guy with the manners of a fucking aristocrat.

Meanwhile, the female he was in front of was looking at him like he’d lost his damned mind. And maybe she was right.

Then again, maybe he’d lost his marbles a long time ago, and they’d only just met.

The female glanced over her shoulder into a dim interior. Then she stepped out of the little house and closed the door. Her hair was back in a ponytail again, wisps of blond floating around her face like a halo. No makeup, but it wasn’t like she needed it, and she was wearing the same jeans she’d had on the night before—no, wait, probably not. He had a feeling, given her brittle self-control, that she was a clean freak and a little compulsive. No doubt she had three or four pairs of the same brand and size, and she rotated them through the washing.

Oh, but she had mixed things up tonight with a fleece on top instead of another sweatshirt—

God, she still smelled fucking amazing—and he couldn’t help but stare at her lips. The fact that they’d been at his throat, sucking . . . licking . . .

Well, it made him resent like fuck that he’d been half dead when all that had been happening. And he better stop thinking of what she’d done at his neck, or he was going to have to rearrange himself—and not because his posture was bad.

“You are not here right now,” she said in a hushed voice.

Sahvage cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not? Where am I, then? You better tell me, ’cuz otherwise I’m lost.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He leaned in and lowered his volume to match hers, like they were sharing secrets. “I’d suggest you pinch me to check and see whether I’m real, but I’m worried you’d deliberately misinterpret the invitation and throw a punch.”

“Yeah, you definitely don’t want to give me an opening like that. I’m not a violent person, but something about you—”

“Inspires you.” He brushed a hand over his short hair. “Yes, I know, I have that effect on females—”

“You do not inspire me—”

“—who are looking for books. So have you found your little Beatrix Potter set yet? Or, wait, it’s more like a Nancy Drew, right.”

That shut her up for a second.

Actually, no, that wasn’t accurate. Her eyes were talking to him pleeeeeenty.

“How did you find this house,” she demanded.

“You fed me last night.” Sahvage eased back. “Your blood is inside of me. Better than GPS.”

And hey, at least he was successful in not licking his lips as he reminded her of what he couldn’t stop thinking about. In his mind, though, he was all about the taste of her—and what do you know, that stroll down memory lane turned the cold night tropical. At least on his side of things.

For her? Antarctica had nothing on the chips of ice in her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

“Pity it’s just a book.”

“I beg your pardon.”

Sahvage shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

“I am not looking for you. Just so we’re clear.”

“Oh, and now you’re hurting my feelings.” He put his hand on his heart and threw his head back on a recoil. “You’re such a . . .”

“Such a what.”

As Sahvage let his words drift off, he turned around and looked out over the tangled yard. The little stone house was set way back from the country road it was on, and the property had been let go for some time, so there were brambles growing everywhere. Likewise, the dirt drive into the acreage was marked by trees that were as graceful as arthritic hands and bushes that had overgrown their shapes.

“Go ahead,” the female prompted. “Say it. You think I can’t handle an insult—”