He had already warned her. His voice carved the words forever into her heart. You will suffer as no one else has ever suffered for your disobedience. He had warned her repeatedly to leave him. She just—couldn’t. There was no way to explain that to him. She didn’t know the reason herself. And she had no voice. No way to soothe him other than to treat him as she treated the wild creatures around her.

It took great courage and physical effort to wrench her gaze from the imprisonment of his. Pressing her lips together and ignoring her thundering heart, she yanked at his clothing to get the smoldering mess away from his skin. She gasped, nearly flinging herself backward when she saw his wounds. Congealed blood lay thick and ugly over the mottled burns. He’d been in a terrible battle, wounded repeatedly, and he hadn’t taken care to heal the lacerations or, judging by his pale complexion, feed.

There was no time for niceties. He was probably being pursued. The undead would be in the ground as the sun rose, but they had all manner of foul servants. She had been drilled since birth on the readiness for assaults by the undead on their home. She ran through the hacienda, securing every window and door and distributing weapons for easy access before rushing to the kitchen to mix a solution to cool her master’s burning skin.

She carried the pitcher back to the man lying on the floor. His gaze followed her, but he made no more effort to push fear into her mind. Maybe because she was already so filled with terror there was no room for anything more. Still, his eyes were ferocious with red flames, and a promise of retaliation. She avoided looking into those eyes, a little afraid he could somehow control her and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—step aside and allow him to die. Every cell in her body demanded she save his life—even at the cost of her own.

Her hand trembled as she began to sponge the cooling solution over his body. She knew it had to sting the gaping lacerations, but she had to stop the burn before she could attend his other wounds. She tried very hard not to notice his defined muscle and impressive male equipment. She pretended he was a wild animal, and perhaps he really was, but it was difficult to view him that way when she was stroking the soft washcloth over his very masculine body.

Marguarita was used to being in the company of men. She’d worked on the ranch for as long as she could remember, but none had a body like this. Zacarias was all hard muscle, broad shoulders and narrow hips. He had a fearsome reputation. Few ever saw him in the flesh, but the rumors were terrible. Cesaro Santos, the capataz of the ranch, had told her when she’d been attacked by the vampire that Zacarias had saved her life, but she’d never met him, spoken with him or even caught sight of him before. Still, she knew with absolute certainty that this man was the eldest of the De La Cruz brothers and the master of all the ranches.

She carefully cleaned his wounds, all the while soothing him as she would one of her wild creatures, unaware if it helped or not. His body was totally dead, although his eyes remained wide open and fixed on her face. He needed blood. He was far too pale and it was evident from his wounds that he’d lost too much. She could hear her heart begin to accelerate, but she’d come this far already. What would going further matter? He’d already condemned her for her actions.

Taking a breath, she drew the knife from its sheath at her waist and before she could think too much about what she was doing, she sliced her wrist. If she could have screamed aloud, she would have, but even opening her mouth wide, no sound emerged. She positioned her wrist over the master’s mouth, allowing her own blood to drip steadily. Silently she demanded he swallow. He could do that much, she was certain of it. When there was no movement, she watched closely and realized his mouth seemed to absorb the blood, as if he was so starved his body took any sustenance it could get. It made sense. He was nearly immortal. His body had been designed to live on regardless of his wounds.

She gave him as much blood as she dared, maybe too much, because she felt a little dizzy when she finally pulled her wrist away and staggered to the bathroom to wrap a bandage around the wound. She had gone past fear and terror now, working on automatic pilot. No one would come into the house now that her father was dead. He had died trying to prevent the vampire from killing her just before Zacarias had arrived. The workers would recognize the signal—the doors and windows locked and covered with the heavy drapes—that a De La Cruz was in residence and must be protected, but not disturbed. Cesaro would put a close guard on the livestock and prepare the ranch for battle.

Marguarita opened all doors between where Zacarias’s body lay and the master bedroom where she knew the chamber beneath the earth was situated. She struggled with moving the enormous bed out of the way as it covered the heavy trap door leading down to the darkened chamber beneath the house. She was sweating by the time she rushed back to Zacarias. Her wrist throbbed and burned and her legs felt like rubber.

It was hell dragging him on the tarp through the house. Thankfully, his eyes finally closed and all breath ceased. He appeared as if he were stone-cold dead. Although she knew the basic principles of Carpathian existence, it was still disconcerting to see him lie as if dead when she’d risked so much to save him. For a moment she was in danger of hyperventilating, a condition that often woke her from her nightmares after the undead’s attack on her. She recognized panic and forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly while she yanked on the tarp, covering the floor inch by inch until she got to the trap door.

Marguarita bit her lower lip so hard she drew a tiny bead of blood. How in the world was she going to get him down the stairs? She hadn’t thought beyond immersing him in the rich dark soil the De La Cruz brothers had brought from their homeland to put in their many resting places. If she called Cesaro to help he would ask questions she didn’t dare answer.

With a shrug of her shoulders she went in front of him, pulling him down the stairs on the tarp. She kept his head from hitting each step, but his body thumped all the way down. Although his eyes were closed and his breathing seemed to have ceased, she was certain he was aware of what was happening to him because when she touched his mind with warmth, she felt as if she’d connected to that wild part of him in the way she did with animals. It wasn’t as if she could talk as she had no voice, but she sent him the impression of sorrow, of being sorry. Of being afraid. She knew it wouldn’t be enough to appease his rage, but it was all she had.

Once she got him on the ground, she began to dig. She wanted the hole deep enough to cover him so the earth could heal him. She could have gone to the tool shed for a shovel, but she didn’t dare run into anyone. She didn’t lie, not even with her sign language. She wasn’t all that adept at it yet and few understood her, so mostly she wrote on paper. Her hands would shake and Cesaro would know something was wrong.

She dug with her hands. The soil was rich and fertile, a black loam abounding with minerals and nutrients. She knew it was so just from the feel of the dirt. It took most of the morning and she was sweating and covered in grime by the time she was satisfied with the depth of the hole. His body needed to be completely surrounded and covered by the soil if he was going to heal properly.

Marguarita dragged the tarp to the very edge of the hole, her stomach churning a little. It did feel as though she was trying to cover up a murder. She could add this day to her nightmares for certain. Crouching, she placed her hands firmly on his shoulder and hip and pushed. Fortunately, she was strong from handling horses since she was a child, but it was still a difficult task to roll him into his resting place.

Zacarias landed awkwardly on his side, like a rag doll—or a dead body. She pressed a dirty, trembling hand to her mouth, feeling limp herself. She rested for a few minutes before she began covering him with the dark soil. When he was completely buried, she sank to her knees beside him and allowed herself a few minutes to have a panic attack.

What had she done? The De La Cruz family made few demands on their people. Very few. Everyone who worked for them was wealthy by any standards. All owned their own lands adjacent to the De La Cruz lands, all because one of the family members had purchased it for them. Cousins, aunts, uncles—everyone related was taken care of. Fathers passed the legacy to their sons. Mothers to their daughters. All had obeyed until Marguarita. She’d disgraced her family name by her disobedience and she had no doubt that she would pay dearly.

She lifted her chin and forced herself to stand. She was a Fernandez, her father’s daughter. She would not run from her crime but stay and face whatever Zacarias De La Cruz deemed fit for her punishment. A shudder went through her and icy fingers crept down her spine. He barely seemed human. Or Carpathian. He was terrifying.

She couldn’t change what she’d done. She didn’t understand it and put it down to her compassion for all things hurt, but that didn’t explain why she’d defied him after he’d told her to allow his death. Why would he choose to burn in the sun? It was a horrible death, and how could he think that she could stand by and watch him burn?

He’d saved her life. She touched her mangled throat, stroking dirt-smeared fingers over the scars. Sometimes, at night, when she woke in a sweat, trying to scream but nothing would come out, she thought she had called to him to save her. She could hear the echo of his name faintly in her head, as if she’d managed just his name. Now he was here and he wasn’t at all the fantasy figure she’d conjured up in her mind.

Zacarias frightened her in an elemental way, deep down in her very blood and bones. In her soul. She pressed a clenched fist over her heart while it beat frantically out of control. He was handsome, had a rock-hard body, seemed everything a woman might dream of, but his eyes . . . his face. He was terrifying and every girlhood fantasy she’d secretly harbored vanished on encountering him.

Marguarita climbed slowly out of the chamber, dusting every grain of dirt from her clothes and body. She couldn’t leave tracks. If a vampire’s puppet penetrated the ranch’s defenses, there could be no trail leading to Zacarias’s resting place. She lowered the trap door and again swept the floor and even washed it, afraid the scent of Zacarias’s blood would be detected. It was extremely difficult to push the bed back into place, but she managed, smoothing out the covers carefully.

She refused to dwell on her behavior or the fear building insidiously in her mind. She had work to do and she would remove every single bit of evidence that Zacarias had been outside or inside. Because she desperately needed it, she made herself a cup of mate de coca, a tea made with coca leaves. She took her time, savoring the tea for the pick-me-up she needed to keep going.

Marguarita cleaned the entire house, every room, mopping and dusting and permeating the house with a strong cinnamon scent. She armed herself and went outside, following the trail of the tarp back to the stables, carefully removing all signs that something heavy had been dragged through the wet grass. Close to the stable where Zacarias had sat and then laid in preparation for death, she found some of the grass scorched. She very carefully removed every blade.

Exhausted, she had another cup of tea and then showered and changed her clothes again, meticulously washing and drying the outfit she’d been wearing, using perfumed soaps to remove and cover any lingering scent. When she was fully satisfied that she’d done all she could, she went out to help with the stock.

Cesaro spotted her as she came out of the stable on her favorite mare, Sparkle. He waved to her, his face set in grim lines.

“The oldest one has come, hasn’t he?” he greeted as he rode up beside her.

Marguarita saw no reason to deny it. She’d signaled by closing the heavy drapes and one of the men had given him the word that a De La Cruz was in residence. It was the only time the drapes were pulled. She nodded her head.

“I knew it. The cattle and horses are uneasy in his presence. Perhaps you should go visit your aunt in Brazil.”

She frowned in question.

Cesaro hesitated, clearly not wanting to appear disloyal. “He’s difficult, Marguarita. Very different from the others.”

She signed a question mark between them.

Cesaro sighed. “I don’t know exactly what to tell you. I met him many years ago when I was a boy. He was the only man who frightened my father—frightened all the men on the ranch. And more recently, when we lost your father, when this . . .” He indicated her throat. “He had grown even worse.”

She signed the question mark again.

Cesaro shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. He even glanced toward the main hacienda as if Zacarias might overhear them and—for all Marguarita knew—maybe he could.

“If animals bred as stock horses are terrified when he’s around, that should tell you something, Marguarita. When he was here the last time, he saved your life, but he came close to taking mine.” He sat for a moment in silence, and then shrugged again. “I would have given my life to save his, but still, there was something not right about him. Even his friend worried. It’s best you go.”

Marguarita turned the warning over and over in her mind. Had Zacarias tried to burn himself up in the sun because he was close to becoming something he didn’t want to be? She ducked her head, unable to look Cesaro in the eye. The idea of running away to her aunt in Brazil was tempting, but she knew she couldn’t. She set her shoulders and indicated the animals.

Cesaro sighed audibly. “You’re a very stubborn young woman, Marguarita, but I am not your father and I can’t order you to go.”

She waved toward the horses, ignoring the fact that he was trying to make her feel guilty. She already had enough guilt going. In any case, she noticed that because she couldn’t speak, some of the men were beginning to treat her almost as if she were deaf as well. And while annoying, that was somewhat to her advantage in such a male-oriented world.

“Yes, we could use your help settling the horses down. We have three mares close to giving birth and I don’t want anything to go wrong. Go into the stable with them and see if you can get them to calm down.”

It was highly unusual for a Peruvian Paso to be skittish about anything. They were bred for their calm temperament. Any horse showing signs of nerves wasn’t bred. The horses from Hacienda De La Cruz were considered some of the best in the world and yet Zacarias had spooked them all, even their working horses.

She nodded her head, but she feared she’d made a very bad mistake, even as she sent a calming wave to the restless animals huddled in the far corner of the pasture. She gestured toward the sky and made a sign, pointing to her teeth, indicating a possible attack from vampires.

Cesaro understood. He was the best on the ranch at interpreting her strange gestures. “We’re aware of the risk of an assault on the hacienda anytime one of the masters is in residence. Everyone is armed, the women and children are under cover—with the exception of you. The moment the horses settle, go into the house and lock it down.”

She indicated that she already had done so and she touched the rifle, hand gun and knife she had on her. She was as ready for an attack as she could be, although the thought was nearly as terrifying as knowing she’d disobeyed Zacarias.

Cesaro nodded approvingly. Marguarita, like everyone on the ranch, had been taught to shoot at a very young age. He suddenly stiffened and indicated something over her shoulder, alarm on his face. “Your man has come courting again.”

She pulled the pen and paper from her pocket. He is certainly not my man. Why don’t you like him?

“He’s your father’s choice, not mine. A city man.” There was a sneer in his voice. “He’s smooth, but he knows nothing of ranch life. You would be better off with Ricco or my son, Julio.” He leaned over his horse’s neck, standing a bit in the stirrups. “He does not ring true for me. He looks down on us, even you. Ricco or Julio suit you more.”

She loved Ricco, one of the men working the cattle; she’d known him for years. And she’d grown up with Julio. It was impossible not to think of him as her brother. She wanted to please Cesaro almost as much as she wanted to please her father.

Cesaro shrugged, the frown still on his face. “You can’t bring him into the hacienda. Send him away, Marguarita.”

She scowled at Cesaro. She knew her duty. She turned her mare back toward the stables, waving at Esteban Eldridge as he drove up to the corrals in his truck. She had no idea how the vehicle stayed as clean as it did. Esteban wore his wealth easily. He was a powerful figure, very attractive—at least he had been until she’d laid eyes on Zacarias. Even injured and burning, Zacarias exuded a tough, almost brutal handsomeness, although that seemed too insipid of a description. Zacarias dominated every room he was in. But Esteban didn’t scare her, or threaten her in the deep elemental way the eldest De La Cruz did. And she knew when a man was seriously interested in her—Esteban wasn’t. But she really enjoyed his sister’s company.

Cesaro sat on his horse and watched her. She could feel his eyes burning into her and it made her upset that he would think she might betray their code of honor to an outsider. She ducked her head a little. She’d already betrayed their code, but not in the way he thought she might and no doubt he would know soon enough of her sins.

She swung off the mare, watching as Esteban strode toward her. He made a striking figure as he covered the ground in long purposeful strides. Her father had introduced them and, clearly, Esteban Eldridge was her father’s choice for her. He’d acted as if he was courting her before the vampire attack, but he had never been truly serious. Esteban obviously liked to have fun and he was a city boy. Cesaro was correct when he’d said Esteban looked down on the ranch workers, barely acknowledging them. How could she fall in love with a man like that?

He had been kind after her father died, showing up often with his sister, Lea, although after her “accident” that left her without the ability to speak, he treated her like many of the others, as if she was unable to hear or maybe even see. Lea, on the other hand was very genuine.

She smiled and waved a second time in greeting.

“Marguarita.” Esteban rolled her name off his tongue easily, taking her hand and holding it briefly to his mouth. “As usual you’re looking lovely.”

She drew the pen and paper from her pocket and wrote: I didn’t expect you today.

“I’ve finally decided I would purchase a few horses and I thought you might come by to take a look at them for me.”

She frowned. He lived in an elegant home on the outskirts of the biggest town near them. He rode, but he wasn’t a big fan of it. He didn’t even have a place to keep the animals. Before she could write down her question, asking what he planned on doing with the horses, he looked around, noting the men out in force, all armed.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Marguarita shrugged and went into the stable where the three very pregnant mares stamped and pawed restlessly in their stalls. She was very aware of Esteban following close to her. She could hear him, feel him, her heightened awareness of Zacarias so vulnerable in the ground making her tense. Ordinarily she welcomed visits from the Eldridge family, especially Lea. Esteban was gentlemanly, but sometimes, his overexaggerated flirtations were annoying when she knew he wasn’t sincere. The men she’d grown up with knew she could ride and shoot as well if not better than them. Esteban made her feel very feminine, treating her like a fragile woman, ignoring the fact that she was very capable. Right now, all she could think about was an imminent attack on the ranch from the worst, most vile enemy possible and she didn’t want Esteban anywhere near the hacienda.

“Your horses have never acted this way,” he observed. “Was there a jaguar close this morning?”

She heard the worry in his voice and it warmed her in spite of the situation. He believed she had survived a jaguar attack, and that her father had died saving her, but she’d lost her vocal cords to the animal ripping her throat. In truth, it had been a vampire attacking, seeking Zacarias’s resting place. She shrugged again, not wanting to lie to him. Writing down a lie was worse even than speaking it.

“Lea said to tell you hello and she hoped to see you soon.”

Marguarita flashed a smile as she opened the stall door and went right in with the mare heavy with foal. She placed her hand on the outstretched neck and sent her waves of reassurance until the horse calmed. Esteban said nothing, just watched as she went from stall to stall, soothing the animals. His presence began to slowly make her uneasy. She felt a kind of dread begin to grow somewhere in the vicinity of the pit of her stomach. It took great effort not to pass her nervousness on to the animals.

Esteban stood quite still outside of each stall, his gaze watchful. The prickle of unease grew until her skin felt as if a thousand pins and needles stabbed into her. She rubbed at her arms as she stepped from the last stall. The horses were eating peacefully and there was no more for her to do. She turned and faced him, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile.

Esteban took her hand and drew her close to him. Strangely the prickling in her skin grew to a burn under the pads of his fingers. She pulled her hand away from him and ran her palms down her thighs to try to rid herself of the sensation.

“I am always astonished at the way you have with horses. They trust you.”

She usually enjoyed his compliments, but right now, with the master so close and vulnerable, she wanted Esteban to be gone. She’d never experienced such unease before, and she was beginning to sweat. She could feel dampness growing between her breasts. The burning on her hand faded, but didn’t stop completely. She moistened her lips and took out her pen and paper.

I’ve always had an affinity with animals. Yes, I’ll come look at your horses in a couple of days. Why are you thinking of purchasing them? You’ve never been interested before. She certainly wouldn’t want to sell one of the beloved Peruvian Paso to him. He never so much as patted them.

His smile was very wide, showing his perfect teeth. “I’ve discovered a love of polo. I’ve been borrowing a friend’s horses and I want my own.”

He sounded very excited, like a young boy. She wanted to be happy for him, to share in his excitement, but he really cared nothing for horses as she did. And there was the main reason for her reluctance to take his suit as seriously as her father wanted. Ricco and Julio both rode horses every day. They cared for and understood them, and they appreciated her love and need to be around the animals as Esteban never would. Esteban Eldridge seemed an affable, likeable man, but he didn’t quite ring true for her. She was surprised her father hadn’t realized that.

“My friend, Simon Vargos, said I could keep them at his hacienda.”

She tried not to wince at that. Simon Vargos traveled to various countries playing polo. He spent a lot of time staring at himself on videos, drinking in bars and picking up women, but no time caring for his stock. He employed grooms, but cared little whether or not they did their job.

“Let’s go up to the hacienda and get something hot and discuss a good date,” Esteban suggested. “I don’t know what anyone is thinking having you outside if a jaguar is prowling around.” He put his hand on the small of her back.

Marguarita’s breath caught in her throat as pain jolted through her body. She stepped away from him on the pretense of stroking the mare’s neck before once more taking out her pen and paper. She handed it to him.

He frowned, using the same expression on his face when his younger sister, Lea, annoyed him. She’d always thought it rather charming, but now she felt pressured. Nothing seemed right. Her skin was too sensitive, and Esteban was a touchy person.

“Your father would never allow you outside if danger threatened. I need to talk to your man Santos.”

His domineering tone annoyed her. She knew Esteban bossed his sister and had a tendency to be just as overbearing with her. Normally she rolled her eyes and ignored him, but she was too worried about anyone discovering Zacarias was in residence—and what she’d done. Esteban had no idea he was encouraging her to enter the very place where the most dangerous predator slumbered.

“You were raised to grace a man’s side, Marguarita, not work until your back breaks.” Ignoring the fact that she was scribbling fast, he continued, “Tell me about this trick you do with the horses. Do you influence them with your mind? Psychically? Lea tells me you can ride without a saddle or bridle and the horse does everything you ask.”

She wasn’t prepared for the question and had to scratch out everything she’d been writing, something she detested. In a conversation, dialogue was back and forth, but few people had the courtesy to wait until she wrote down her responses. It was very frustrating. She was trying to learn sign language, but she was working out of a book and only Cesaro, Julio and Ricco were even attempting to understand.

It was more than her presence, but she didn’t know how to describe communicating with an animal. She’d always been able to calm an animal, to share her emotions with them and they simply responded in kind.

“Can you influence a human being the way you do horses?”

Her gaze jumped to his. Esteban searched her face intently. She frowned as she scribbled her answer. How could I influence human minds?

She didn’t like the turn in conversation. She was always uncomfortable discussing her gift. Her family simply never discussed her ability. They were happy for her to work with the animals on the ranch, but “talking” with horses was not acceptable in a world where many unexplained things could be evil. Her father had recently become interested in whether or not it might be termed a psychic ability but after his death, she didn’t much care what her gift was labeled.

“Don’t be defensive,” Esteban soothed. “Lea and I had a little argument about this. She said you commmunicate with horses. I thought perhaps it was more a meeting of the minds and you somehow influenced them to do as you wish and that maybe you could do the same with people.”

She bit down hard on her lower lip. He was hitting a little too close to the mark.

“Is this some family secret I’ve stumbled onto?” There was amusement in his voice.

She had many family secrets and this one was minuscule in comparison to the others. She realized she was in a foul mood, not wanting to deal with Esteban and his annoying charm when an impending attack from vampires or their puppets was possible.

I’m sorry, Esteban. I really don’t have time for this conversation. I need to get to work. I hope you understand. We can arrange for me to look at your horses another time. To make certain he understood she was finished, she pushed the pen and paper back into her pocket after he’d read her note.

Esteban scowled at her. “I don’t think you’re behaving very well, Marguarita. Your accident doesn’t give you license to be rude.”

He was suddenly too close. She could feel the blast of anger pouring off of him. The stable felt too small, and too far away from everyone. He crowded her until she gave way, stepping back before she could stop herself.

“Marguarita.” The hard male voice had both of them spinning toward the entrance.

Marguarita breathed a sigh of relief.

Julio Santos sat astride his horse, his piercing dark eyes on Esteban as he held out his hand to Marguarita. “You’re needed. Come with me now.”

She didn’t hesitate, moving around Esteban and catching Julio’s wrist. He swung her up behind him. She expected him to start off immediately, but he sat still, regarding Esteban from beneath the brim of his hat. The two men eyed one another for a long, tense moment.

“You good, Marguarita?” Julio asked.

She put her arms around his waist, laid her head against his back and nodded so he could feel the movement. Again she had that strange reaction, her skin burning the moment she made contact with Julio. She jerked her cheek from his back, lifted a hand toward Esteban as if nothing was wrong and, without thinking, silently urged the horse to get out of the stable. Julio was unprepared for the horse’s sudden motion, but he was an excellent rider and moved with the animal.

“Next time warn me.”

She squeezed her arms tighter to say she was sorry.

“Father sent me. He doesn’t like Esteban on the property. He’s still shoving the idea of the two of us at me. I got one hell of a lecture, Marguarita, about how I’m allowing such a treasure to slip away.” He patted her hands with gloved fingers. “Did he do the same to you?” There was sympathy in his voice.

She nodded her head, once again against his back. That horrible burn was much sharper this time and beginning to spread through her arms, although her skin was covered with the material of her blouse. Uncomfortable, she loosened her grip, using her knees to hold on. Julio’s mount was so smooth she doubted if she had needed to take such a precaution.

Julio always made her laugh. She loved him and she had no doubt that he loved her back just as fiercely and protectively—maybe more so. Julio was one of the best men she knew. But they had been raised from birth together and every time someone suggested they pair up, they laughed hysterically together. Although recently, ever since Esteban had come into the picture, Cesaro had pushed them together until it was uncomfortable.

“I’ve tried to explain to him, but he worries now that your father is gone. Esteban doesn’t belong in our world.”

She pulled out her pen and paper. Luckily the ride was smooth and made writing easy. He is incapable of keeping secrets, let alone one as big as the De La Cruz family and what they are.

If she married outside the ranch, she would have to leave it and she would never be able to divulge her family’s secrets to her spouse. Their association with the Carpathians was closely guarded. She knew she wouldn’t remember the De La Cruz brothers, all memories would be removed before she left their properties.

“He doesn’t belong in this world. Why did he come to our small town, Marguarita? People who come here are desperate for another life. They usually have nothing. He’s got money and, to me, that means he’s hiding from something.”

She thought about it for a moment and then scribbled another message. He asked me if I could influence people like I do the horses. Why would he ask that?

“I don’t know. I don’t like it. The De La Cruz brothers can influence people and have used their abilities to gain more property for themselves and for us than most are able to have here. It’s possible he wonders how we were able to get our lands in such large increments.”

She trusted Julio’s judgment as she always had. Julio wasn’t the least bit complicated and he never had hidden agendas. If he tapped on her window in the middle of the night to go riding, it really was to go riding. If he told her he wanted to show her something, it was always something special—usually some wildlife he’d spotted. More than once they’d snuck off together to go into the rain forest to track some animal.

“I’m taking you back to the house once I see him leave,” Julio said. “We’ve got everything settled down, but I’d feel better with you inside. We could be attacked tonight.”

The chance of a vampire attacking while a De La Cruz was in residence was far higher than when they were away.

“Did you see him?” Julio asked. “It has to be the eldest or the cattle and horses wouldn’t react like they have. I’ve never actually spoken with him.”

She didn’t want to lie so she merely nodded her head. Julio glanced at her over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow. He regarded her pale face steadily. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, her gaze sliding away.

“That scary?”

She nodded.

Julio sighed. “Will you be all right?”

She pressed her lips together tightly and penned a short answer. He won’t notice me——I hope.

She considered telling Julio the truth, but he would go all macho on her and insist on protecting her against Zacarias’s wrath. As frightened as she was—she had disobeyed a direct order—she couldn’t allow anyone else to be punished for her sins. She’d face Zacarias alone and try to explain. Fortunately she had until sundown to find the right words and she’d write it all down. She didn’t expect the Carpathian to understand—she didn’t understand herself—but she would do her best to let him see she hadn’t meant to be defiant.

She nodded her head and Julio turned his attention to riding through the yards, putting his horse through various gaits, showing off that he could control his horse with his hands and knees. She missed laughing. She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged and that took some of the joy away from sharing with Julio.

Only when Esteban’s vehicle disappeared down the road did Julio take her back up to the house. He extended his arm so she could dismount easier, but retained possession of her hand when she went to turn away. That same burning sensation snaked up her arm. She looked up at the boy—no, man—who had been her confidante and companion since birth. He regarded her steadily, looking straight into her eyes.

“What’s wrong, little sister? I know you too well for you to pretend with me. Did Esteban say something that frightened you? Or is it De La Cruz?”

She swallowed hard. She loved Julio. She refused to lie outright to him. She shook her head slowly as she tried to gently pull her hand from his.

Julio tightened his grip and the burning sensation became more painful, a deep brand that seemed to go to her very bones. She had to fight to keep from crying out and jerking away.

“Tell me.”

She pressed her lips together and slowly tugged until Julio allowed her to slip away. She pulled out her pen and paper and scribbled, unknowing if she told the truth or not.

He continued to stare down at her face for a long moment and then he touched his hat. “I love you, too, little sister. If you need me, ring the bell and I’ll come running.”

She smiled at him, warmth stealing into her cold bones. Of course he would come if she sounded the alarm they’d rigged up. Julio was someone she’d always counted on and she knew he was telling her he would go against the code of their families if necessary to protect her. She put her hand over her heart and watched him ride away, her deep affection for him making her eyes burn and tears clog her throat.

Slowly, she entered the house, her heart beating so hard, she feared she would have a stroke. The empty rooms were silent, accusing, and she wandered around, feeling a little lost in her own home. Eventually, the taste of fear subsided and she cooked herself something to eat and spent the rest of the day writing out long letters to Zacarias, explaining to the best of her ability why she had saved him against his wishes, and then discarding them.

The sun sank and night descended. Insects began their calls in earnest. Frogs chimed in. Horses stamped occasionally and the cattle settled for the night. Storm clouds gathered overhead, dark, ominous roiling masses that blotted out the sliver of moon and stars. Heavy with rain, a few drops fell, a portent of what was to come. Lights went out in windows, one by one, as the workers settled in with their families.

Marguarita took a bath and once again sat at her desk, trying to compose a letter that might save her. The wastebasket overflowed with crumpled paper as she became more and more frustrated. The wind picked up, battering at her window, and Marguarita finally crawled into bed and pulled up the covers, her pen still in her hand.