Mona Lisa Darkening

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It was hard to be human. I didn't know how normal people did it, being ill. Waiting endlessly for the days to pass, to heal, to get better. But unlike a normal human, I did not heal, not as they did, drearily slow though the process was.

I had been spoiled all my life, I realized now. A funny insight to have, considering the difficult time I had growing up in foster homes. But I had been. Since I was young, I had always had my strength, my speed, my sharper senses… always a little bit more than others. A lot more after I hit puberty. And I'd always been special in some way. I used to think of myself as different, but different is special. Only now did I see that, when I no longer was.

A week passed and I did not improve as I had hoped I would. A small part of me had thought that I would be able heal on my own. I was used to being strong. Used to saving the day. Used to being different, even among people of my own kind. I think that was the hardest part, having that special ness ripped away from me. What I was now was weak, normal, mundane. I was common now. No different from three billion other people, no different from any normal Half Blood in terms of strength, of power, of specialness.

I had been arrogant. I'd never known how much courage it took to be the weakest one. To live among others all stronger than you.

When it finally dawned on me that this might be it for me, this ordinariness forever, it changed everything. Nothing else changed, only in my mind. Only in my perception of myself — from strong to weak, from special to ordinary, from Queen to common Mixed Blood. Nothing else really changed, and it was harder than if it had. Like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

My blinders were off after one week of no improvement, of no healing. My people's blinders were still on. Those who were closest to me, they still treated me as if I were special.

Amber was here three days out of the week now, the other four days spent back in his territory. He alternated with Tomas and Aquila, who had become his pinch hitters during this crisis. When he was with me, the other two were in Mississippi. When Amber was gone, Dontaine was there, watching over me. My two Monère lovers. My personal protectors. They both treated me like spun glass, easily breakable. But in all other ways, they treated me the same — as if I was desirable, attractive. As if I were still their Queen.

Oddly enough, it was hardest to bear from Dontaine. Amber and I had a longer relationship, a love more deeply grown. My relationship, my love with Dontaine, on the other hand, was new, freshly fragile, much more easily broken. That it hadn't yet surprised me. That he persisted in his courtship made me feel guilty, if what I was beginning to suspect was true — that I would never again be what I once was.

I spent more time with Tersa and Jamie, keeping them company. Or rather the other way around — they kept me company while they did their chores. They refused, utterly refused, to let me help them. Had been horrified, in fact, when I had offered to lend a hand. When I realized I was not only slowing them a great deal but that my hovering presence was making them feel terribly awkward, I gave up my attempt to seek comfort for myself. And it had been comfort I had been selfishly seeking. I wanted to be with others as weak as me. To see and understand how they did it — moved around a world where others were so much stronger.

My brother was thankfully more comfortable in my presence, and we carved out a routine, grabbing a drink and snack at the diner near the library just before sunset, then driving back home in time for the main meal. I treasured that time spent with Thaddeus, but he wasn't truly weak like I was. He was a Mixed Blood, but he was special as I had been and no longer was.

Only among other humans did some of that tension ease in me. Only among them did I finally relax. Only among them was I among people as weak as I.

I started venturing out more to New Orleans. Nothing like the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter if you wanted to be among people. But not on the days when Amber was with me. On those days, I was, for the most part, happy and content to stay at home and be with him. I'd taken him once into the city, into the rowdy French Quarter when I had gotten restless, and it had been a disaster. Amber had flinched at every sound. Hated the casual chaos, the vast number of people, and what he saw as an overwhelming number of threats to my fragile self. He'd actually growled at people who had lightly brushed me in passing. By the time we left, a short ten minutes later, he had been sweating, his entire body tense as if he had just endured an arduous ordeal.

Funny that what made me feel safe, being lost in a crowd of people, made him feel most threatened — not for himself but for me. One person, he said, could not guard me adequately enough. He had gruffly offered to bring along more guards the next time I wished to venture into the city. I had smiled and said I was happy to stay at home… on the days he was with me. When Dontaine was with me, though, that was when I quenched my need to bury myself among people.

Maybe it was growing up here and having so much Monère-owned business based in the city that gave Dontaine the ease he had, moving among the crowded populace of New Orleans — because he'd done it all his life. Whatever the reason, he walked down Bourbon Street, Royal Street, and the rest of the crowded thoroughfares of the French Quarter as if he owned them, guiding us through the crowds with an ease and surety that Amber had not possessed.

The first day we lingered at Jackson Square, listening to a jazz band playing there, then wandered through several antique stores where all the salespeople, for some reason, had been most attentive. In the third store we stopped in, Dontaine asked if I wanted to bring the jewelry box, an exquisite piece that I had stopped to admire, back home with us. I told him that I didn't have enough money on me to make the purchase. Even if I did, I would never have bought anything so expensive. It was fun to look at, but I had no interest in buying anything so pricey. When Dontaine said that I didn't need money, that I owned the store, I suddenly realized why they had all been so attentive. They had recognized Dontaine.

I glanced at the price tag. A mere five hundred dollars — and I wasn't being sarcastic. The jewelry box was one of the least expensive items in the store. A second clerk was busy ringing up the sale of a twelve-thousand-dollar antique writing desk that another couple had just purchased. I know because I had glanced at the price tag when we had first walked in. Frankly, I couldn't imagine paying that much for a desk. To find out that I owned the shop, with all its outrageously expensive items, was even more shocking.

"People actually pay these outrageous prices?" I don't know why I asked. Proof was being rung up right in front of my eyes.

Dontaine smiled, while the saleswoman's eyes darted nervously to the couple making the purchase, obviously hoping they hadn't heard my gauche remark, and soured the deal.

"There are always people willing to pay for quality," Dontaine murmured quietly and steered me out the door, to the saleswoman's relief.

"What about the first store? Did I own that, too?"

Dontaine nodded.

When I asked, "Any other stores here?" he pointed out a gift shop and a small bank.

"I own a bank?"

"You did not know?"

"No. Aquila wants to introduce me to all my holdings, but we haven't gotten around to it yet. One thing or another always comes up." More like one disaster after another, but I didn't say that.

"Would you like me to show you all your businesses here in the French Quarter?"

Maybe not my businesses for much longer, I thought.

I shook my head. "No need. Let's just enjoy the night." And we did, wandering leisurely around, soaking in the sound, the music, the atmosphere.

The second night, he drove me to the garden district and parked at a street corner. It was more residential, without the hustle and bustle of tourists.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"Do you remember when you said that you did not see us as equals in terms of beauty?"

I nodded.

"I thought of a way to remedy that."

I glanced at the beauty salon where we were parked. "What did you have in mind?" I asked with enough wariness in my voice to make him smile.

"Nothing so terribly bad. Just a haircut and a manicure. Painless procedures."

"Maybe for you," I muttered, "not for me."

I hated change. I really did. Having things change beyond my control was one thing. Bringing about deliberate change when there was no need to — that was another entirely different matter. And not only did I hate change, but I was a miser at heart. I didn't like spending money on myself when I didn't need to. On other people, fine. On myself, no. The jeans and T-shirt I had on were over ten years old — old, worn, and comfortable. Familiar, like old friends. And my hairstyle — long, usually in a ponytail, but more recently left loose to please the men — was not only easy but cheap for me. I didn't have to cut my hair often, just trim it a couple of times a year.

"A haircut and manicure are not going to make me as pretty as you, Dontaine."

"You do not know until you try."

For a moment I thought he was joking, but he wasn't. He was utterly serious.

"Why waste everyone's time, effort, and money on something that isn't going to work?" I asked bluntly. "It'll be a dreadful waste of money."

His answer was just as practical and blunt. "You own the store, you won't have to pay." His tone softened, turned cajoling. "I know you do not feel inclined to do so, but can you not try this for me? Will you not at least allow me this attempt?"

He was shooting for a miracle, and that just wasn't going to happen, not with just a haircut and manicure. But looking at him, so hopeful, so handsome, so fair, with that tender, hopeful look in his eyes, it was impossible to say no.

"Okay," I said, gritting my teeth, "we can try this."

He didn't wait for me to change my mind. Faster than I could blink, he was out of the car and holding my door open. I found myself hustled inside the salon with almost indecent haste. There were quick hellos — everyone seemed to know Dontaine — then I was seated in a chair, a black crape snapped around my neck quicker than you could whistle. It was a highly effective strategy. Harder to say, "Sorry, I changed my mind" wearing that black crape around you. But then that was just probably my suspicious mind. They were probably as speedily efficient with all of their customers.

Once I was seated and draped, the stylist appeared. He was a trim little man in his later thirties, stylishly clothed and groomed. "Fabulous to see you, darling," he said, air kissing Dontaine's cheeks.

I raised an eyebrow. Darling?

Dontaine's laughing eyes told me to behave. "This is Melvin," he said, introducing us. "The premiere stylist of New Orleans, a true artist in the field. And this is Lisa Hamilton, my good friend, the lady I told you about."

"Ah, yes," Melvin said, giving me a quick, thorough scrutiny. "A real challenge, but lots of potential, as you said. Daphne," he said to the young woman who had seated me. "Let Antoine know I'll be busy with her for two hours."

When she left to do his bidding, the premiere stylist of New Orleans ran his hands through my hair, checking its texture and thickness, lifting it and letting it fall from his fingers.

"You can't cut it short," I said, wanting to make that clear before he started.

"Yes, yes, sugar. I know," Melvin said, still concentrating on my hair and what he wanted to do with it. "Dontaine told me I had to keep it at least shoulder-blade long."

I relaxed and didn't say anything more after that. I mean, what could he do, length-restricted as he was? Not much more than trim it, right?

Wrong. Really wrong. I got an idea of just how wrong I was when he left and returned with a hair-coloring chart composed of different strands of hair ranging from jet-black to white-blond.

"You're going to color my hair?"

Melvin sniffed. "I do not just color people's hair." He held up different shades of brown against my hair, my skin. "I blend colors together like a palette, not just one color but several. Now, hush-hush. Let me concentrate."

I hush-hushed and let him concentrate… until he held up some lighter color samples against me.

"Not blond," I said.

"No, sugar." He rolled out the last word, dropping the r, so that it came out sounding like sugah. "Dontaine said you weren't likely to agree to that." Making me wonder if all that fast efficiency when we first stepped inside hadn't been good strategy after all. "Though you really would look lovely as a blonde," he said hopefully.

"Forget it," I said, scowling.

"Then we will simply lighten the color and add in some highlights."

He lied. It wasn't simple at all. He brushed this alarming rust-colored paste into random bits of my hair, and wrapped it in foil. Then he started to slather this yucky blue paste over all my remaining hair. When I asked if he was dying my hair blue, Melvin laughed, hush-hushed me again, and proceeded to make me look like this bizarrely painted alien antenna. I wondered briefly if all that aluminum foil crunched up around my head would draw lightning during a storm. What a stupid thing that would be, to get struck by lightning. Maybe I was being paranoid but weirder things had happened to me lately. But no storms came. And no angry lightning bolts zapped down from the sky to strike my head.

For once I was thankful for my diminished sense of smell — all my senses were duller now. Even so, the chemical smell was foul. I don't know how Dontaine stood it, but he did, sitting nearby in a chair they had brought out for him. He flipped through a fashion magazine, smiling at me when our glances met — mine uncomfortable, impatient; his soft and tender, indulgent. A look that, along with his attentiveness, screamed boyfriend. I got a lot of envious looks from the salon girls, all of them young and pretty. And even from a few older clients busy having their hair done by other stylists.

When Melvin had finally finished applying all the dye, a girl named Tammy came out and did my manicure while the dark wet goop stained its way into my hair.

When she asked me what color nail polish I wanted, I said, "Clear." She glanced at Dontaine. When she got his nod of approval, she briskly and efficiently got down to business, finishing up just as the timer for my hair dinged. They washed the dye out, and sat me back down. I had a brief glimpse of my turbaned head before Melvin spun me around so I was no longer facing the mirror. He took the towel off, and with little scissors in hand, began snipping away. He trimmed the ends, a very simple straight cut across the bottom. I assumed he was finished. He wasn't. He was only getting started. He gathered up a hunk of hair, holding it straight up and out. Snip, snip went the scissors, and a clump of hair at least three inches long fell to the floor.

"I thought you were keeping it long."

"I am, sugar. Just adding in some long layers. Lightening up all that thick weight."

He was very detailed and meticulous in his cut. Quite different from what I was used to. At one point, he actually rolled and twisted up different sections of my hair, cutting across the ends of them as he let them untwirl. He spent over an hour on me, the longest haircut I'd ever gotten. No doubt the most expensive, had I had to pay for it.

When he was done cutting, yet another girl came out and set up a camcorder and tripod. She pressed a button and a red light came on.

"You're recording this?" I asked.

"Yes," Melvin said. "So you'll be able to see what I'm doing and duplicate this style later."

"Why don't you just show me how to do it now?"

"It's a surprise, darling," he said, eyes twinkling.

A surprise. Sure. But I could be tactful sometimes. I kept my mouth closed while he gooped up his hands with styling gel, and proceeded to rub it into my hair. Yuck.

The blow-dryer whined as my hair was pulled in all different directions by a twisting, twirling brush. If Melvin or Dontaine thought I was going to do this every day, they were delusional.

Finally, the whining blow-dryer clicked off. My neck was dusted off, and the protective cape removed. Finished, I thought. But I should have known better by now. Before I could move, another little man came striding up. He was pretty like Melvin, and flamboyantly gay. Shadow accented his eyes, mascara darkened his lashes, and ruby color brightened his lips and cheeks. He was darkly complected, both skin and hair, with a slim oval face and these really high, sculptured cheekbones like Prince, the singer, before he became know as the Artist Known as… whatever.

He sauntered up to us and air kissed first Melvin, then Dontaine, who stood up to greet him. I stood as well as Dontaine introduced me to Antoine.

Instead of shaking my hand, he kissed it. "A pleasure, mademoiselle." His eyes shifted to Dontaine. "And a real challenge, as you said. Yes, yes." He gave me that same scrutinizing look that Melvin had given me, but this one didn't stop at my neck, it continued all the way down to my feet. "Wonderful, wonderful," he said, eyes traveling back up to my face. "You have begun the process, my dear Melvin. Now I will finish it."

"You will?" My voice was careful. Not angry, exactly, just careful.

"Oui, oui. Just put yourself in my hands and all will be fabulous." He beamed at me. I didn't beam back. I just looked at Dontaine. Demanded an explanation.

"Antoine is an exclusive dresser."

"A dresser?" I asked. I'd never heard of the term.

"Oui," Antoine said, nodding proudly. "I dress the rich and famous in our fair city, those fortunate enough to have my services."

Not a shy one, our Antoine.

"He's also a very talented makeup artist," Dontaine continued.

Antoine fluttered his long mascaraed lashes up at Dontaine. "You flatter me, cher!"

One look at Dontaine's beautiful, pleading green eyes and all the resistance went out of me. I nodded, giving my permission. Why the hell not? I was here. Antoine was here. I'd had my hair and nails done, why not makeup and clothes? I wasn't entirely pleased at how Dontaine had sprung it on me, bit by sneaky bit, but truthfully, had he tried to ask me ahead of time, I would have likely flat-out said no.

"What would you like me to do?" I asked.

"Just sit. Sit and put yourself in my hands," said Antoine.

I sat. Another seat, a high one, was brought out, along with a table tray for Antoine. He laid out a huge makeup box on the table, filled with all brand-new items.

"First, cleansing." Antoine, talked me through the entire process while the video camera blinked red at me. Then face cream was applied. He choose a foundation, the lightest one, smearing it all over my face and neck with a triangular sponge. Ick. I sat through everything he did with a stony, unsmiling expression that must have been perfect for all he did, because he didn't ask me to change it, not until it came time to apply the lipstick.

"Open your mouth a little. That's it," he murmured, penciling in the outline, then filling in the rest of my lip color with a tiny brush.

Eye shadow was simply closing my eyes. Eyeliner was a "Look up" and "Look down." The most uncomfortable part was curling my eyelashes, and then gluing on a set of false eyelashes. It took about thirty blinks to get used to the odd feeling of my eyes after they were applied. I shot Dontaine a glare that said, I cannot believe I'm letting them put this shit on me!

Dontaine smiled soothingly, serenely back at me. Easy for him to do. He wasn't getting his face painted or eyelashes glued on him. Crap! I wondered how many times I'd have to scrub my face to get all this stuff off me.

With hair and face done, I was whisked into a back office where an entire rack of clothing hung. Even more clothes had been draped over two chairs.

"I am not trying all those clothes on," I said, flatly balking.

"No, no, of course not," Antoine soothed, his tone distracted as he flipped through the thick rack of clothes. "I brought extra sizes just in case Dontaine's guess was off, but it isn't. Here, try this on." He thrust gold slacks and a light green oriental silk shirt into my hands, and closed the door behind him.

I changed, grumbling a bit, but only a tiny bit. It could have been much worse, like one of the long formal gowns I saw hanging on the rack.

When I opened the door and walked out of the room, the men froze. A look flashed in Dontaine's eyes, something I couldn't read. Something that made me wish suddenly for a mirror so that I could see what he saw.

Antoine clapped his hands and trilled, "Perfect!" Then added, "Well, almost. Shoes. All you need now is shoes. Sneakers so do not go with that outfit." Going to the clothing rack, he unzipped the plastic end section, revealing eight sets of shoes sitting neatly in layered cubbies. He grabbed the ones in the third cubby, delicate ivory ballet slippers, and handed them to me. "Try these."

There was nowhere to sit. Dontaine solved the dilemma by kneeling. "Allow me."

I opened my mouth to say, "Don't be silly, I can put on my own shoes," but closed my mouth, the words unsaid, at that look again in his eyes. It was as if he bespelled me, but he didn't, not really. He just looked at me that way, and I allowed him to unlace the sneaker, slip it off, and lift my right foot onto his thigh. He slid his hand slowly up the pant leg until he touched my bare skin. He made the gesture of removing my sock and cradling my bare foot in his hand more intimate than it should have been. In a graceful, chivalrous gesture that made me feel a bit like Cinderella, he slid the slipper onto my foot. A perfect fit.

He lifted my other foot to his thigh, and my hands went to his shoulders for balance. The slight buzz of touching him made my hands tingle. He bared my other foot, cupped it in his hand, then the cool satin lining of the other shoe slid over my skin.

"Perfect," Dontaine murmured, looking up at me.

"What's perfect?"

"You." He stood up and drew me down the hallway. "Come see what I see."

Antoine was waiting for us back in the salon; he'd slipped away without my noticing. I froze as I looked beyond him and caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror.

A stranger looked back at me, and she was beautiful. Strikingly so, like a model. The makeup had been boldly applied, with no attempt at being subtle. Dark eye shadow and heavily smudged liner brought out my eyes, heightened their exotic slant. The long fake eyelashes — that did not look fake at all — made my eyes appear deep, stunning pools of mystery. Blush carved out my high cheekbones, and red lipstick made my mouth fuller, poutier. My hair was full and wild, wisping in artful layers about my face instead of hanging straight and heavy. The color, though, was the biggest change. My dark hair had been lightened to a deep shining bronze, and streaked with blond and gold highlights, a color theme echoed by my clothes.

Under Tersa's lightly applied makeup, I had been pretty. In NetherHell, I had been lovely in a delicate, flawless-skin kind of way. Now, in these clothes, with this bold, unsubtle makeup, I was drop-dead gorgeous. Sensual and sophisticated. Like one of those women that appeared in glossy ads.

"Wow! I don't know what to say."

Others didn't have that problem.

"Stunning," said Melvin.

"Beautiful," oohed the salon girls.

"Divine," cooed Antoine. "Devastatingly divine."

"You guys are miracle workers," I said.

Melvin and Antoine didn't argue with me. Just nodded their heads in preening agreement.

I still couldn't believe what I saw, what they'd made me. I touched a hand to my face to make sure that divine reflection was really me.

Antoine pushed a tissue into my hand. "No touching, cher. Wipe your fingers, that's a good girl. You don't want to get any makeup smeared on your clothes." Sitting me back in the chair, he turned the video camera back on and proceeded to give detailed instructions on how to remove the makeup, pointing out different bottles of cleansers to use for each part of my face — eyes, lips, and lastly skin.

"I don't think I'll be able to remember everything," I said, overwhelmed.

"That's why we're videotaping this, cher" Antoine popped the DVD out of the camcorder, slid it into a clear plastic case, and handed it to me like a precious gift. "For you, along with everything here in this case." He gestured to the large makeup box.

"You're giving me all this stuff? That has to be over five hundred dollars' worth of products in there."

"Try a thousand," Antoine said lightly.

I gulped. "I couldn't possibly take it. It would be a waste to give it to me. Even with the videotape, I doubt I'll be able to do what you guys did."

"I'll help you learn," Dontaine said. "Just take it and say thank you." That look again in his eyes.

I said thank you, hugged Antoine and Melvin, and allowed Dontaine to usher me out into the car in a near daze. Antoine and an assistant followed us out, both of them loaded with an armful of clothes, which they laid out on the backseat.

"What's that?" I asked, twisting around to look.

"Some outfits to go with your glamorous new look," said Antoine, winking. "Also some shoes in this bag, and hair care products from Melvin in the other. Ta ta, darling. We'll see you in a month."

"A month?" I said.

"Yes, of course. Your roots will need touching up by then." He threw me a bright smile and closed the door.

"My roots?" I asked as we pulled onto the road, waving to a beaming Antoine.

"He meant the roots of your hair, the darker portion of your hair as it grows out."

"You mean I have to do this every month?" I must have sounded as horrified as I felt because Dontaine flashed me a smile.

"Not the whole procedure you went through today. Just some dye along the roots of your hair once a month."

Maintenance — that was a whole other concept I wasn't ready to deal with yet. I was still trying to wrap my mind around the amazing transformation. I flipped down the mirror and gazed at my reflection. "I can't believe that's me," I mused. "It's not, really. It's the clothes, the painted hair and painted face."

"Most beautiful people do not look the way they do without a lot of help," Dontaine observed beside me.

"You look stunningly handsome without any help from makeup."

"But my hair has a good cut and style, and I wear clothes that were carefully selected to complement my coloring and build. Without all that effort and attention to detail, I would be much more common looking."

"That's hard to believe."

"Believe me. It is far easier to look bad than it is to look good. Effort must be put into looking good, for everyone. With only one change, a bad haircut, a handsome actor can be transformed into a cold and unattractive killer, like in the movies. I considered," he said, glancing at me, "letting you see me in an unflattering light, but could not bring myself to do so."

"Vain, Dontaine?" I said, teasing softly.

"Utterly. With my suit already so untenable, I could not bring myself to willingly give up the few advantages I have."

"It's not a contest or a competition, Dontaine."

"Is it not? Of the men you have chosen, one is the ruler of Hell. The other two are Warrior Lords."

"Amber and Gryphon were not Warrior Lords when I met them," I pointed out.

He looked surprised, as if that had not occurred to him before. "I stand corrected," he said thoughtfully. "However, to return to my original point, how much effort it takes to look your best does not matter so much as the final result — what you can become. Even with the same exact treatment you just had, many women still would be able to look the way you do now. The bone structure, flawless skin, slender build — you already possessed all that. The makeup and clothes and hair simply drew out your natural beauty, made it more visible to others."

"But I don't look like this every day."

"The important thing is that you can."

He parked the car and came around to open the door for me.

"Where are we going now?" I asked.

"To have dinner. I told Rosemary that we would be dining out tonight." He offered his arm and I took it. And with that one gesture, I suddenly felt nervous and self-conscious, like I was going out on a date.

We drew looks as we walked down the street. How could we not with Dontaine by my side. But this time, it wasn't just women who gazed at us, it was also men. And most of the looks, not all but most of them, were for me and not my gorgeous-looking companion. For the first time in my life, I drew looks. Registered on men's radar — human men — in a way I never had before.

"They are finally seeing you the way we have always seen you," Dontaine murmured.

"I always looked this beautiful to you?"

"Yes. We can perceive you with senses other than our eyes."

"I know all Queens emit aphidy." A substance similar to pheromones. A thought occurred to me. "Do I still have that? Aphidy?" I asked, and saw the answer in his eyes.

My aphidy was gone, another Monère part of me lost. "Then why?" I asked, feeling shaken, confused, lost. "Why on God's earth do you still want me?"

I poised to run from him, faced with yet another devastating piece of me gone. But he was there, so fast, his hands gently grasping my arms, holding me still, not letting me turn from him. His face was tense, harsh, his eyes burning.

"Because you offer something even rarer than power or aphidy. You offer something that few other Queens offer — love. You bestow love on all you take under your care. And intimate love to only a few. I saw it once in your eyes for me, and I want to see it again. I need to, as much as I need to breathe air. Mona Lisa, this one thing — love — you have still to give. Do not deny me. Not when my soul needs you, cries out for you."

My heart was pounding in my chest, adrenaline flashing through my system. Fight or flight. Flee… or embrace the need I saw before me. And the man who held such yearning need.

Love, he said. The one thing I had left to give. The one thing I still denied him and what he so obviously craved. Had I been that selfish, that blind? Had I been so frightened of losing this new love, of having it ripped from me by death the same way Gryphon had been taken from me, that I pushed it away in the name of unselfishness, when all the while it had been done for the most selfish reason of all? To keep me safe, to keep me protected from loss?

I'd told Dontaine that he was too handsome and I too plain. He had transformed me into something beautiful, striking.

And when I thought I had nothing left to give a man, he told me I still had the most precious thing of all — love.

A man, handsome, loyal, and strong, with a face and body that dazzled the eye, stood before me, wanting me, needing me. And I wanted him, too, in turn but was too cowardly to grab what was being so freely offered to me — love in turn.

Are you going to be a fool and push him away from you yet again? Do you need to lose him, too, before you realize how much you should have treasured him instead?

No! I cried within. "No," I said, and watched as his face fell. "I'm through running away… when all this time I should have been running to you."

I murmured his name with aching need, with naked want, feeling all the adrenaline flooding my system shift down a new, more urgent path. Watched his face shift from despair into painful hope.

"What are you saying?" he asked roughly.

"I'm saying yes." And kissed him. Kissed him with love and need. Plastered myself against him and felt an answering tremor pass from that strong body to mine. Felt him stir, grow hard and firm against me.

His hands gripped me, held me away. "Yes?" he asked, his dark green eyes shining almost jewel bright. His mouth was smeared red by my lipstick, like a primitive mark of ownership.

"Yes," I answered.

He turned and pulled me down the street at a pace so quick it was almost a run.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To the nearest room."

I laughed. Said breathlessly, "Sounds good to me. You have my lipstick on your lips."

He smiled sharply at me, not faltering in his speedy pace. "Good. When we're through, I want it smeared all over my body." His words, the intent look in his eyes, weakened my knees.

We flew past people who turned to stare at us, and I didn't care. We whipped down two blocks, three. Turned a corner and stopped at the first doorway. Key in hand, he quickly opened the door and pulled me inside, up a flight a stairs.

"This isn't a hotel" I said.

"No, an apartment building. One of ours." Then he was opening a second door and pulling me inside a room. Before the door closed, he had my back against the wall, his body pressed to mine. He groaned at the contact, that hard, strong body shuddering as I wrapped my legs around him and adjusted our bodies so that his hardness notched against my softness.

"Condom," I gasped.

He lifted my left leg higher and pulled something out of his back pocket. "Got one," he muttered and set me back down on the floor so he could undress me.

A terrible thought came to me as he pulled off my shirt. "Maybe I'm completely human now. Maybe we're too different in chemistry to find pleasure together."

His hard body plastered me to the wall again, his hips, his hardness grinding into me. "Does this feel like no pleasure?" he growled, nipping at my lips.

A sweet feeling of need, of building pleasure rippled through me at that lovely thrust and swivel of his talented hips. "Okay, guess you're right."

I pressed him away, and his weight shifted back, not because of my strength… no, I was vividly aware of how little there was of that… but because it was my desire and he was not yet entirely certain if I had changed my mind. He stepped back hesitantly, and I tackled his shirt, the reason I'd needed the room, unbuttoning it with swift, hasty speed, pushing it off him.

"Oh, my," I said, looking at the treasure I had unearthed. I moved my hands, my lips, over the lovely expanse of his torso, branded red kisses across the white skin of his chest, and felt his hesitancy melt away. My hands moved to the waistband of his trousers.

"Me, first," he said, and tugged down my dress pants. Easy to do with the elastic-banded waist. Underwear came off next, then my shoes, one foot then the next. Moving in a blur of speed, he draped my pants and top neatly over a chair, and returned to me, kneeling and pressing his mouth to me before I knew what he intended. A swirl of his tongue against my shaved nether lips had me crying out in shock, in weeping pleasure. Then the electric buzz of his tongue licking there over the little bud he had searched out. The sensation of him, of his touch, had me screaming and jerking in a quick, explosive climax.

"I think that answers the question of whether or not we can feel pleasure together." His smile was sharp and feral, an aggressive male intent upon the woman he was about to mate. The sight of him looking up at me like that, with his red lips, branded by me, moist with my body's most intimate fluids, rolled another shudder of gratification through me, inside me.

"Take off your pants," I panted.

He did so with a quick economy of motion, not taking his eyes off me, burning, bright, intense.

I moved my gaze over him — those brawny arms, wide shoulders, wide muscled chest tapering down to a flat abdomen, every part of him strongly cut, perfectly defined. And then lower to where he lay thick and pointed.

My gaze slid hungrily over his shaft. Watched it bob under the hot caress of my eyes. Moved down his bulging thighs, the thick muscles of his calves, the delicate arch of his feet. I moved my gaze just as slowly back up. Licked my lips, smiled. Shook my head when he started to rip open the packet.

"Not yet." Brushing his hands aside, I knelt between his legs. "My turn." My turn to run my hands down the backs of his thighs, to flex my hands there, testing the hard muscle. To sink my short nails in, just a little, into that taut, supple flesh. My turn to lick him, taste him, encircle the thick base of his male organ with my hand and take him slowly, luxuriously, into my mouth. To smear every inch of that hard rosy flesh with the red paint of my lips. To suck and draw on him, and watch that red rosy flesh begin to glow luminously bright, spread from there out to the rest of his body. I watched him glow with lunar light. Watched him glow with pleasure as his hands buried themselves in my hair, gripping tight, pressing my mouth down over him just an instant before he eased me gently back.

"No more, please, or I will go, and I don't want to yet. Not until I'm inside you for the first time."

"You were inside me before."

"But not here," he said, fingering my swollen folds. "Not touching your womb. Not facing you, kissing you, feeling your heart beating hard against mine as I take you. Don't make me wait any longer."

"No. No more waiting."

With his face etched fierce with desire, he ripped open the packet and slid on the condom like a pro. I knew he'd never used one before; I'd had to explain to him what a condom was a couple of weeks ago.

"You practiced."

"Yes," he growled, drawing me to my feet. One easy lift and he hoisted me up, so effortlessly strong, and began to sink me slowly down on his shaft. My legs wrapped tightly behind his back, his waist, and I cried out, my body dancing with little twitches and shudders as I felt him enter me, penetrate me, sink inside me as he kissed me and drank up my cries.

"Look at me," he whispered. My eyes fluttered open, locked with his. How gloriously bright and beautiful he was. A creature of light, all aglow. With his strong body, beautifully handsome face, and blond hair turned almost white in the luminescent light, he looked like a fierce warrior angel. All he needed was a pair of wings and a sword in his hands.

Then he sank into me that last final inch, and all thoughts of angels and wings disappeared and it was just Dontaine and me, this beautiful Monère man making love to me — a creature broken, unable to return his light, though my body tried for one stuttering moment. Tried and failed.

"I can't glow," I sobbed.

"I don't care." He lifted me with those strong hands, careful and aware of his strength. Lifted me up, and let my weight sink me slowly back down onto him. I felt him, every single hard sliding inch of him as my greedy sheath slowly, voluptuously swallowed him back in with fluttering wet pleasure, as his eyes bound us together in even deeper intimacy.

"I don't care," he said, jaw clenched tight. "I don't need you to glow to tell me that I'm pleasing you. I can feel your body's hot, weeping response. I can see every emotion, every feeling in your eyes."

Lift and slide. Eyes locked together. I felt enveloped by him, surrounded by his light. Bonded with him.

"Sweet Goddess," he muttered. "The way you look at me. It almost hurts how nakedly you look at me. And yet I need it, crave it like a starving man. Had to see it again in your eyes."

Another lift. Another slow, wet glide back down.

"What do you see?" I whispered.

"I see your soul — beautiful, generous, and bright. I see that when you share your body, you also share your heart."

"How can it be any other way?"

"Only with you," he said. "Only with you. Sex is not casual for you because you share yourself with so few."

"I have five lovers, Dontaine."

"As I said, few."

I smiled, nipped lightly at his low full lip. "How differently you see things."

"As do you, thank the Goddess. As do you."

A rapid lift and slide. Another, then another, his hands helping now, faster, harder, deeper, his hips lifting and thrusting in thrilling counterpoint to the fast rhythm he set with his hands. And with each deep thrust, each thick slide in, small sounds were pulled from my throat. He held me with such easy strength. Tilted my body forward so that my breasts, the hardened points of my nipples dragged across his chest with each slide down and up. So that my swollen, sensitive clit rubbed against his body with each spearing upstroke. So close together that our breaths mingled in the intimate wholeness of sharing, loving.

"Love me," he cried.

"I do!" And with that final added emotion — love — my arousal peaked, and I splintered into brilliant climax. I closed my eyes. Saw — felt — a spark flicker and die in me — my body trying to match his light, and failing still to glow.

I opened my eyes as Dontaine groaned and thrust even harder into my spasming sheath, his eyes glittering, his face wild and tight. I watched and felt my climax detonate his own. Watched him give himself over to his own heaving, pulsing pleasure, sharing that final intimate moment.

With a soft cry, he pulled me against him, holding me so tight I could feel his heart beating against mine as his light faded back into him. His lips brushed my temple in a tender kiss as tears, both his and mine, mingled together in happiness and sadness. In things both lost and found.