FLASHBACK
At the time of Declan’s recruitment
Section One

Birkoff gave the young field operative an assessing look. Just as clearly, he found him wanting. “I’ve been here a lot longer than you have. You’re just the new kid on the block.”

“Like Hell. You’ve never seen *anyone* like me, boyo, and you never will again.”

“Why don’t we just cut to the chase and you can tell me what you want?”

“What makes you think I want something from the likes of you, Birkoff?” Declan trailed his fingertips over Birkoff’s shoulder and the younger man visibly shivered.

“I c-can t-tell,” Birkoff stammered, hating the way his voice quavered.

“Had much experience then, boyo?” Declan purred silkily in his ear, his tongue achingly close to touching Birkoff’s skin.

Figuring that when push came to shove, Declan was likely to find out anyway, Birkoff shook his head in the negative.

“You’re a virgin,” Declan crowed. To be a virgin at 16 was not that unusual, especially given the circumstances he found himself in, but Birkoff wasn’t about to say that.

Declan’s hand caressed Birkoff’s cheek, almost lovingly, as he added, “I’d be your first.”

His fingers traced their way across Birkoff’s suddenly sensitive lips. For some reason, the gesture was far more intimate than a kiss. Not that even Declan could get away with kissing someone in the middle of Comm. Birkoff gasped as he realized that the field operative’s seemingly artless fondling was having the desired result.

Birkoff was hard. Right out in the middle of Section. Where anyone, read Madeline, or even worse, Operations, could see. What *was* the penalty for having a hard-on during working hours? Was there one? And had anyone lived to tell about it?

Thinking of Madeline did the trick. As quickly as it arose, Birkoff’s erection faded. With its departure came renewed confidence. “In your dreams, McLaren.” He knew he sounded snarky. It was one of his most carefully-honed defense mechanisms, and it had served him well for years.

Until now.

Wrapping an arm around Birkoff’s shoulders, Declan guided him away from his workstation and away from Comm. “I’m going to have your ass, boyo. Don’t think I won’t.”

“You wouldn’t d-dare.”

Declan smiled, a genuine smile that reached his beautiful eyes, and Birkoff wondered how it was possible that someone who looked that good could be so wicked. For there was now no doubt in his mind at all that Declan was *bad*.

“I love a challenge.”

“Pick on someone else. Please.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What are you going to do?” Birkoff whispered, very real terror shining out of his dark eyes now.

“Some night, when you least expect it…there’ll come a knock on the door.”

“Y-you?” Birkoff hissed, his breath coming hard and fast in his throat. But it was fear. Right? It couldn’t be excitement. No, no, it had to be fear.

“Me.”

“What do you want me to do?” Birkoff asked helplessly, not realizing that his eyes were pleading with the desire to be taken.

“Pog mo thoin.”

Birkoff’s eyes widened, wondering. “Kiss my ass.” Then Declan slipped him a cheeky grin before disappearing down the hall.

Birkoff let out the breath that he’d inadvertently been holding all at once. “Shit. I had no…idea,” he said to himself.

If Declan was so evil, why was he looking forward to seeing him again?

***

He didn’t have long to wait. Declan himself was too impatient to taste the young head of Comm’s tender skin in all his most private places. Life had been his teacher. Taken away his innocence when he was too young to realize the importance of the loss. That was how he was able to justify taking Birkoff to his bed.

He had no use for love. Love was wasted on the weak. It gave solace to those who could no longer hold on. If you cared about someone, they used you, then they left you. That was how it was in Declan’s world. Kicked in the teeth by life too many times to count. Hanging on to that life by a slender thread.

Eyes aglitter, he let himself into Birkoff’s quarters. There was no knock to alert Birkoff that someone was inside his bedroom. That was Declan’s first lie. But it wouldn’t be his last.

Kicking off his boots as he approached Birkoff’s bed, he studied the sleeping boy beneath the covers. Though they were nearly the same age, Declan felt light-years removed from Birkoff. Birkoff was sheltered, shy…vulnerable. Everything he was not. Fuck.

Knowing that Birkoff could not hear him, Declan whispered, “You *are* so fucking beautiful, boyo.” Christ, he could hear the tears that lurked beneath the surface. They were always there, of course, but he was so good at keeping the pain at bay.

Kneeling on the bed, he quietly undressed, discarding his clothing as he stripped. When he was completely naked, he slid under the covers with Birkoff, anxiously waiting for him to realize that he was no longer alone.

His hands smoothed the flesh beneath them. So cool, so pale. Birkoff’s skin was so clearly untouched by anyone else. That made Declan feel positively possessive of the younger teen.

Pressing a kiss to Birkoff’s shoulder, he sighed. He felt so right. Therefore, there could be no question of him ever being his. Not the way he wanted. Not the way he dreamed about.

Declan’s arms slipped around Birkoff’s waist, staking his claim to him. He was already hard, the tip of his erection nudging the crack between Birkoff’s buttocks. Birkoff woke with a startled cry. But Declan clamped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t scream, boyo. Tis only me.”

He could feel the younger boy’s heart pounding furiously in his chest, but eventually it subsided to it normal rate. Declan rolled Birkoff over onto his stomach, sshing him when he would have protested. He prepared the Comm operative with his fingers, taking his time to make sure that Birkoff was relaxed enough to accept him.

The boneless way that Birkoff sprawled across his bed told Declan that he was, contrary to what he expected, completely relaxed. Making sure that both of them were properly lubricated, he pressed against the entrance to Birkoff’s virgin channel. Immediately tense, Birkoff said, “Please don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t, acushla.” With that, Declan kissed the nape of his neck, making sure to graze his softness with his teeth, just enough to distract Birkoff from the pain at his moment of entry. Once inside, however, Declan couldn’t help himself. His young lover felt so good, so snug around his erection.

He began to move, and once he started, he simply could not go slow. It was fast and hard, and Declan pounded his way through Birkoff’s virgin territory like a man on a mission. Just as Birkoff began to whimper in growing excitement at the possibility of coming, Declan climaxed inside him.

Withdrawing quickly, he tied off the condom and tossed it away. Dimly aware that Birkoff was breathing hard, he eased his weight off his lover and fell onto his back, his arm across his face.

Murmuring apologetically, Declan said, “Sorry I couldn’t wait for you to catch up, boyo.”

Birkoff sniffled and Declan belatedly registered that he was crying. “Hey, I said I was sorry. I wasn’t *that* rough, was I?”

Declan touched the other boy’s shoulder and Birkoff flinched. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” came Birkoff’s voice, muffled by tears and pillow.

“But—“ Declan protested. “Then why are you crying?”

“Cause you treated me like someone you really cared about…and then…and then…you forgot all about me.”

“I didn’t forget you! I won’t! I swear it!”

Birkoff whirled around to face him, his eyes glistening with tears that he refused to let fall. “Do you know who I am? Do you?”

***

“Do you? Do you?”

Declan shifted restlessly in his lover’s arms, the dream already fading, but its tentacles reached deep into his soul and were loath to let go. Suddenly his eyes flew open, their grey depths dark and flooded with pain.

“Sey! You’re Sey! Oh, God, Sey! What did I do?”

Sey could do little but hold him as he sobbed over and over, “What did I do?”

Declan’s shaggy head cradled against his chest, Sey spoke to him in a vaguely singsong manner, assuring him that he was all right, that he was safe, and that he was never going to leave him. Ever.

Sey closed his eyes on his own tears. It might be a long time before he slept. His body ached from the unaccustomed roughness with which Declan took him. At the time, he had known that it was Declan inside his body, and he had enjoyed the rugged way Declan was making love to him.

But now his beloved was lost. It was the pain of that loss that pierced Sey’s heart to the core. He bent his head and kissed his lover’s hair. “I love you, Dec. Do you hear me?”

For a long moment, there was no sound but that of Declan’s sobs. Then, like a miraculous light at the end of the tunnel, Declan’s voice broke through. “You love me? Oh, God, Sey, I thought—I love you, too.”

Declan grasped Sey’s hand and brought it to his mouth. Kissing the back of Sey’s wrist with something very like formality, Declan sighed happily. “You smell like my Sey.”

Quirking his mouth in an effort not to laugh, Sey said, “I am.”

“Mine.”

"Yours.”

“Always and forever?”

“Always and forever.”

Nikita avoided Sey’s eyes when he ambled into the kitchen. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Sey said absently, searching for the canister of coffee, which seemed to have gone missing about the same time as his temper. “Where the hell is the coffee?”

Nikita sipped delicately at her tea before gently replacing the cup on the table in front of her. “Is this because of…um…me and Michael—“

Sey whirled around, anger and pain warring for dominance in his expressive face. “Not *everything* is about you, Nikita!”

She stared down at her hands for a moment before replying, her voice much calmer than she really felt. “Sorry, Birkoff. I just thought that something was wrong, that’s all.”

“It is! It’s just—oh, fuck!” Sey collapsed into the chair next to her, his hands raking over his face, then into his hair, so roughly that Nikita was afraid he would hurt himself.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in tight against her body. He resisted at first, but he was so desperately in need of someone to lean on that he gave in. She held him against her chest. His face felt hot, almost feverish and his dark silky hair lay matted on his nape. Tentatively, she reached out to stroke his forehead. “If you want to talk, Birkoff, I’m here.”

He shook his head wordlessly, making a little sound in his throat that reminded Nikita of how vulnerable her “little brother” could still be.

She didn’t know how long she held him, murmuring nonsense syllables to soothe him, as if he were one of her children. But suddenly she was aware of someone watching her and she looked up to find Declan standing in the doorway.

“Oh, God. What truck ran over you?” Now that she saw Declan, she could guess at part of what was bothering Birkoff.

Declan couldn’t smile. His lips felt numb. He would never dream of appearing in public looking the way he did, if it hadn’t been for the fact that when he woke, Sey was gone from their bed. He registered on some level that he looked terrible, judging from Nikita’s horrified look, but he couldn’t find the energy to care. All that mattered was finding Sey.

“Sey…” he whispered between cracked lips.

Sey stirred in Nikita’s arms, his body attuned to his lover’s voice, no matter how faint. “Dec?” he said, opening his eyes for the first time in minutes. “Oh, God, Dec. You look like I feel.”

“Can I get a hug, too?”

Nikita beckoned with one arm outstretched, careful to keep her other arm snugly wrapped around Sey’s shoulders. Declan sat down on the other side of her and brushed his lips lightly against Nikita’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Initially surprised by Declan’s unexpected display of affection towards Nikita, and just a tiny bit jealous, if he were capable of admitting it to himself, Sey realized that it was actually a sign of growth. It still took conscious effort for Declan to be so open with other people, but he was trying.

After a few moments passed in silence, Nikita said with a grin, “I’d ask if anyone wanted some coffee, but I seem to be somewhat immobilized.”

Declan lay his head on Nikita’s shoulder, but he was looking directly into Sey’s dark eyes now. “I love you,” he mouthed, content only when Sey responded by tracing his lips with his fingertips.

“Would you boys like to be alone?” Nikita asked. She wasn’t trying to intrude on the couple, but they *were* practically sitting in her lap.

“Sorry,” Sey quickly apologized.

Declan reached out and took Sey’s hand. He turned it over and kissed the back of it. “I think we need to be with other people for a bit.”

Nikita looked amused. “O-kayyy…but if you keep doing that sort of thing, it kinda limits your options, Declan.”

Declan laughed, but it was at best a feeble, short-lived sound. “I should get cleaned up.”

“Yes, you should. With a face like that, you’ll scare everyone away.”

“Come help me, Sey,” Declan said softly.

Sey smiled. “After I get a cup of coffee.”

“You’d pass up a chance at this body for a lousy cup of coffee, acushla?” Declan asked.

“In a heartbeat, Dec.” Sey leaned over and kissed his lover on the mouth. “No one gets between me and my caffeine.”

“Hmm, you cheeky little bugger,” Declan murmured. That was Declan’s way of telling Sey that he was starting to feel better.

Glancing quickly at Nikita, Sey directed, “You go upstairs and get undressed, Dec. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Nikita chuckled. “I swear, everything you two say to each other sounds like an invitation to bed.”

“Can I help where your mind goes?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Declan confessed at the same time.

Shooing the two of them away, Nikita said, “Then go make each other happy. I won’t expect to see you before dinner at the earliest.”

Sey’s eyes grew impossibly round. “Aren’t you the optimist?”

Nikita smiled knowingly. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“Really?” Sey grinned mischievously.

“They’re not rumors,” said Declan with a trace of his usual spirit.

Sey raised an eyebrow and fixed his gaze on his lover. “Prove it.”

Nikita crept away, sure that her absence wouldn’t be noticed for oh, quite some time yet.

“Mmm…” sighed Sey. He was lying on top of Declan, his fingers restlessly plucking at the former field operative’s already sparse chest hair.

“Hey, I don’t have much of that to begin with, y’know.”

“Mmm, I know,” Sey murmured sleepily, his lips tickling the base of his lover’s throat.

“Aren’t you the talkative lad, then?”

Despite his drowsiness, Sey grinned, a slow smile spreading across his smooth, as yet-unlined features. “Yep.”

“So…” Declan asked, helpless to resist Sey in this kind of a mood, “did I prove my point?”

Sey looked up at him, his dark brown eyes coming out of their hiding place beneath improbably long eyelashes. “Oh, yeahhh,” Sey drawled the last word, simultaneously sliding a hand between their bodies. Wet and sticky and in desperate need of a shave, Sey wouldn’t trade a single second of the time he spent in Declan’s arms for *anything* else.

“But why don’t you show me again?” he asked coyly.

“Again?” Declan snorted. “What kind of vitamins have *you* been taking? Why don’t you roll over like a good boy and have a nap?”

“Mmm, well, as good a pillow as you make, I think I’ll pass. I’m all rested up, Gran’pa.”

Declan pulled the younger man into a rough embrace, his hands seeking and stroking the silken hair that fell to Sey’s shoulders. Moments later, he rolled both of them over, pinning Sey under him. “You’re a cheeky little bastard, but damned if I don’t love you all the more for it.”

He moved experimentally, his hips grazing his lover’s arousal with expected results. Sey’s mouth fastened onto the underside of Declan’s jaw. “Easy, baby. You don’t have to make love to me like your very life depended on it.”

“Oh, but I do,” Sey groaned. “And it does. Don’t you know that?”

“I know there is no one else I would rather come home to or wake up with every day, acushla.” Declan ground his mouth against his partner’s in a tantalizing kiss that denied nothing and promised everything.

“I love you, too.”

They didn’t do too much talking after that.

***

“I dunno. Maybe I’ll wear my hair long in a braid…like Emmy.” Faith pulled her hair off her neck and waited for Connor’s reaction.

“It’s too hot,” he said wryly. “Besides, that’s Emmy, not you.”

Faith hunkered down on the floor of the living room next to Connor. They were watching TV, or pretending to. Connor was watching her. She primped exaggeratedly. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Connor chuckled. “What kind of a stupid question is that?”

“Well, do you?”

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever.” Connor cupped his chin in his hands and studiously ignored her.

“Whatever? You are *so* rude, Connor Hunter! I hate you!”

He stared at the TV without blinking. “Uh huh.”

“I do! I mean it!”

“You always mean it when you say it, Fee. But it’s like everything else with you. Something more dramatic comes along and you forget all about it.” He rolled his eyes for emphasis.

"You’d better not take me for granted.”

Connor sighed heavily. “Right. Like you pay *so* much more attention to *me*.”

Faith threw herself onto her back on the emerald green carpet, all arms and legs flailing. If there was an art to flouncing, Faith perfected it. “Stupid…boy,” she finally settled on for lack of a suitable epithet.

“I’m bored.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not your personal entertainment committee, Fee. Get over it.”

She huffed and bounced onto her stomach. “Yeah, well, you’re the freaking reason I’m bored.”

His dark blue eyes met her bright green ones with a burst of ferocity so intense, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks. “You take that back.”

“Nope,” she smirked.

“I said…take…it…back,” Connor ground out between clenched teeth. He hovered over her, his breath fanning her face, and she squirmed uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny.

“You are such an *asshole*,” she said defiantly.

“Shut up,” he said quietly.

“Make me.”

“Okay.”

Before she could move, Connor trapped her, his hands framing her face. For the briefest moment, she thought about retaliation. Then his lips touched hers. With a soft whimper, she submitted, her body abruptly relaxing within his embrace.

It was her first real kiss. His lips felt dry, even papery. It shouldn’t have been the most pleasant sensation she had ever experienced.

She smiled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and waited impatiently for it to happen again. This claiming thing was all new to her. This side of Connor was, too.

But it was wonderful. She traced her lips with her finger, feeling as though everything had changed in the span of an instant.

She expected words of love. She expected heartfelt sentiment. Well, she got…something like that.

“You are such a pain in the ass,” he said softly..

Faith pouted and chewed on her lower lip. “I guess I deserved that.”

“Yeah, you do. But you know what?”

“What?”

“I still love you,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Oh,” she breathed, unable to utter a coherent sentence if she tried.

“And Fee? There’s something else I ought to tell you.”

“What?” she asked eagerly.

“Your dad is standing right behind you.”

“Oh, shit,” she gasped.

With a daring that Faith never would have dreamed he possessed, Connor pressed his mouth to her ear. Right there in front of her father.

“Connor! My dad is just archaic enough to force me to marry you or something,” she groaned.

Connor nodded. God, he loved it when a plan came together.

Connor, you’re not old enough for what I’d like to do to you. So I suggest that you go to your room and stay there.”

“Till when?” Connor said with an altogether too-bright smile.

“Till your mother comes up to discuss the facts of life with you,” Michael gritted out.

“When do you think that might be?” Connor asked innocently.

“Maybe when Hell freezes over,” Michael muttered to himself.

Faith tried to look apologetic, but failed miserably. The gleam in her eyes and the glow in her face made it very clear that she was *not* sorry that Connor kissed her. Not one bit.

“Sorry, Dad.”

Michael merely gave her The Look. She stopped trying to smile and ran upstairs.

Glancing at Connor, Michael asked, “Are you still here? I must be losing my touch.”

“Oh, no, Uncle Michael. You’re every bit as scary as you ever were,” the teenager reassured him.

Michael shook his head. “Go home, Connor.”

“I live here,” the adolescent protested.

“Are you trying to test my patience?”

A voice, deep and husky, commanded their attention. “Shit, Michael, you’ve obviously never been a kid.”

“What are you, the Voice of Reason?”

“Hey, don’t laugh. I’ve got more experience than both of you put together.”

Walter re-adjusted his bright red bandanna so that it fell across his gray hair at an even jauntier angle. “Cut him a break.”

“Why?”

“You like to win, Michael. But guess what? You can’t win this one. No one can. You can’t fight nature. Sooner or later, your sons and daughters are going to grow up.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Sometimes I wonder.”

Michael’s face flushed a dark red. “Connor, you can go.”

“Thanks, Uncle Michael. Bye, Gran’pa.”

“See ya round, kid.” Walter smiled and waved a weathered hand at Connor.

“You’ve got to learn to chill, Michael, or you’re going to be in serious trouble by the time Faith goes on her first date.”

“Faith is the one who’s going to be in serious trouble,” Michael muttered under his breath.

“Now, now, Michael. Be fair. What did she do that was so wrong? Don’t tell me you’ve never succumbed to temptation before. I’ve seen the way Nikita looks at you. She whistles and you beg like a well-trained dog.”

“I expect my children to act more like—“

“Like what, Michael? Aren’t they every bit as human as you are?”

“But they’re just kids, Walter,” Michael said, feeling himself weakening.

“Exactly my point. Thank you for seeing it my way.”

“But—“

“Now why don’t you go find Nikita and go for a walk? It’s a beautiful day.”

“This isn’t the end of it, Walter. They’ve already started something that they’re going to want to finish.”

“At 13? Come on, Michael. You’re looking at things from an adult perspective.”

“Do I have any other choice? I might be unpopular right now, but I stopped them. For now.”

“I have an idea that might appeal to Faith and Connor’s imaginations. Want to hear it?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Nope.” Walter’s blue eyes twinkled mischievously. “Here’s my proposition.”

***

Faith sat dutifully on the edge of her chair, Connor beside her. Michael not only embraced Walter’s plan, he took it to Madeline for her approval, knowing that she was the parent they would need to win over. Now the two teenagers were sitting in the chateau’s kitchen, waiting somewhat anxiously to hear what Michael had to say.

As a preface, Michael said, “I can’t very well forbid you two to see each other.”

Faith let out the breath she’d obviously been holding. “Thank God,” she sighed.

“I heard that,” Michael declared.

Faith clasped her hands together and bowed her head, as if she were in church. It was all Michael could do not to laugh.

Connor’s new attitude, apparently, did *not* extend to family members. He took one good look at Michael and shrunk back in his chair.

“But now that you’re getting older, you’re going to need to take on more responsibility.”

“For what?”

"For your own actions.”

“Is this a roundabout way of saying you don’t want Connor to kiss me, Dad?” Faith asked innocently.

Michael leveled a dismayed look at his daughter and she quickly subsided. “Okay, I’m shutting up now.”

Connor quirked an eyebrow at her, sending her a mental message that clearly said, What are you doing? *Trying* to piss him off?

“I want you to think of yourself as a knight, Connor.”

“Huh?”

“Like in Knights of the Round Table?”

“Oh, I know what a knight is, Uncle Michael. I just don’t get why you want *me* to pretend to be one.”

“Do you know who Sir Galahad was?”

“Yep. The purest of heart. He was the only one who found the Holy Grail.”

“Think of yourself as Galahad, Connor. And Faith,” Michael waved a hand absently in his daughter’s direction, “is the Grail.”

Connor’s dark blue eyes grew wider. “You’re giving me permission to pursue her like Galahad went after the Grail?”

Michael smiled faintly. This seemed like such a good idea. “Something like that. But you can’t have the Grail, er, Faith, until she’s older. *Much* older.”

“Oh.” Connor pondered, but like the bright boy that he was, he grasped the idea immediately. “You want me to be noble.”

Michael nodded.

“And chaste.”

Faith frowned. “What’s chaste?”

“No kissing.”

Oh.” Faith waited a beat before saying, “That kinda sucks, Dad.”

“Don’t you want to be a princess like Emmy?”

“Well, sure. Like duh.”

“Well, princesses stayed chaste until they were married.”

Faith gasped. “I knew it! You *are* going to make me marry Connor!”

“Holy shit,” Connor exclaimed, belatedly clapping his hands over his face. “But we’re too young to get married. Or even engaged.”

“True,” Michael agreed. “But in many countries, kids even younger than you become betrothed.”

“Betrothed?” Faith made yet another face.

“It’s an arranged marriage,” Connor whispered.

“Arranged by who?”

“Ssh, you’ll get in even more trouble, Fee.”

“Think of it as becoming engaged to be engaged.”

Faith piped up, “Do I get a ring?”

Connor looked daggers at her. “Way to go, Fee.”

“Well, I deserve one. Don’t I, Dad?”

Michael glanced at Connor. Or rather he stared at him with such intensity, the young teenager visibly flinched. “I’ll—I’ll ask my Mom,” he stammered, wondering what she would say if he dared voice such a request.

“So…when does this happen, Dad?”

“It already has, Fee. I spoke to Connor’s mother and she agreed.”

Connor’s mouth dropped open. “To what?”

“To your eventual marriage to my daughter,” Michael said smoothly.

“Oh.”

Connor didn’t want to say anything, but what if he met someone else by the time he was old enough for this agreement to be enforceable? What if he didn’t want to marry Fee? What if—what was he saying? Of course, he wanted to marry Fee. He was in love with her. He always had been. Age had no bearing on that.

Maybe what he really meant was—what if *she* didn’t want to marry *him*? He gulped. It would kill him. It really would.

He didn’t want to trap her. He wanted her to love him back. Maybe this arrangement was a good thing. If she was betrothed to *him*, she couldn’t find someone else. Could she?

“So what do you think, Connor? Do I have your word of honor that you will treat my daughter with the utmost respect from this day forward?”

“Yes, sir,” Connor vowed. He already felt bound to her in an emotional way that he could never adequately describe. No one else could understand the depth of his commitment to her. Not even his uncle.

“And you, Fee? Will you honor this agreement?”

Faith had made up her mind. But she pretended to consider the question. “I get to be Connor’s lady fair?”

Michael nodded, suddenly realizing that his daughter *was* growing up. Right before his eyes. His eyes stung. Were those tears? Impossible. He wouldn’t lose Fee for years yet. Right?

Faith turned to Connor, an incandescent smile lighting her face. “I accept.”

Michael closed his eyes and tried to swallow over the lump in his throat.

“And here we were feeling sorry for you, thinking how bad you’d be punished and all,” Sasha snorted.

Connor grinned. “Nah, it’s pretty cool. Uncle Michael’s not such a bad guy.”

Faith giggled. “For a grown-up.”

Sasha maintained a careful neutrality. He trusted everyone here implicitly, but sometimes, when push came to shove….

He flopped on Connor’s bed. “Where’s your mom?”

“She and Dad went to Paris for a couple of days.”

“Really? What brought that on?”

Connor stuck his tongue out at the slightly older teenager. He liked Sasha’s sense of humor: dry, biting, sometimes sarcastic. It reminded him of Declan. “Mom was bitching about nothing to do out here or something. You know, the usual.”

Sasha flung himself onto his back dramatically, sweeping a sturdy arm across his face with characteristic abandon. “God, I don’t know how Uncle Neil stands her.”

Even Faith sat up and stared at him. “Sasha!”

Sasha opened his dark eyes to find Connor blinking at him, his face unreadable for once. “I’m really sorry, Con.”

“Me, too.” Connor bit his lip. “I know how she is. But she’s still my mother.”

“Are we still friends?”

Connor shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Good.”

There were some things that he just couldn’t bring himself to tell his friends. Things that no one knew. Except him and Kady. He would protect her if it was the last thing he ever did.

***

“You’re making this up.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am *not*, I said.”

“Quit it.”

“You first.”

Sasha shoved Jazz away from him. The older teenager landed on his backside, unhurt, but the look on his face said otherwise. “What’s your problem, man?”

“Why won’t you believe me?” Sasha wailed.

“Cause there’s no fucking way that girl is interested in you,” Jazz snapped, brushing himself off.

“Like you would know, Jazz. What you know about girls is—“

“A helluva lot more than *you* know, Sash.”

Several tense moments passed. Sasha threw hostile looks in Jazz’ direction from time to time, but he had no real ammunition and he knew it.

“What’s with this girl anyway? What about Skye?” Jazz asked.

The way Sasha’s nostrils flared, Jazz could tell that he didn’t care for being reminded of the younger Samuelle daughter. “She’s still a kid.”

“Some people would say that about *you*.”

“Look, I love Skye, okay? But she’s not—I mean, I can’t—shit, you know what I mean, don’t you?” Sasha raked a hand through his long brown hair, completely mussing it.

Jazz gave him an enigmatic look. “Adam and I can’t…and we’re still together. Maybe what you have with Skye isn’t love—“

Sasha jumped onto the bed, arms and legs flailing, ready to punch the life out of his best friend. “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare say that!”

Jazz lay on his back in a submissive posture, hoping that would defuse Sasha’s anger more quickly than wrestling with him. “Sasha, what’s wrong? You’ve been all keyed up lately. You’re like a firecracker waiting to go off, man.”

Sasha looked down at his hands, hands that even now encircled his best friend’s neck. “Oh, my God. Jazz, I’m sorry. I—“ With a convulsive shudder, he closed his eyes. Willing himself under control, he pushed himself away from Jazz, burying his face in his hands.

When Jazz heard Sasha start to cry, he couldn’t help but be moved. “Sasha, it’s going to be okay. We’ll work this out. Just remember that I love you.”

Sasha peeked tearfully through his fingers at the older adolescent. “Yeah?” He sniffled loudly. “I love you, too, man.”

Jazz wrapped his arms around Sasha’s neck and planted a big sloppy kiss behind his ear. Sasha chuckled and batted playfully at Jazz’ hair. What with Jazz sprawled halfway across Sasha’s body in a curiously intimate position, it was easy to see how someone could mistake the two friends for lovers.

“What a charming scene this is,” drawled Adam. “Please, don’t get up on *my* account,” he added as Jazz started to scramble off the bed.

“It’s not what you think, Adam.”

“It never is.” Adam’s eyes blurred with tears. He trusted Jazz implicitly. Or so he thought. But at the first sign of trouble, he was sure that he was cheating on him. How could he not? He probably didn’t understand what being faithful meant.

“Adam—“ Jazz reached out to touch the older teenager, but he eluded his grasp.

“Don’t. Please. I don’t think I can take any more of this.” With a choked sob, Adam turned on his heel and left.

Jazz crumpled into a boneless heap on the end of the bed. “No…”

Sasha stared after Adam, his dark brown eyes filled with sorrow. “It’s my fault. It’s *all* my fault.”

If only he knew how to make things right again.

Sasha swiped a hand across his already tear-stained face and glared angrily at the older adolescent. Jazz wiped his nose on his sleeve, his eyes the color of wet leaves. He stood in the doorway, arms outstretched, the sole barrier to Sasha leaving.

“Not till I know you’re not going to do something stupid, man.”

“Like what?” he choked out.

“Like go after Adam. I know you, man. You’re blaming yourself for this whole thing, but it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

“But I could explain—“

“He wouldn’t listen to you now, Sasha. He’s too hot.”

“How come you’re not upset with me?”

“Cause you’re my best friend, man. How many of those do you think I’ve got? You didn’t do it on purpose. I know that. Even if Adam doesn’t.”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up between you guys, Jazz. I swear.” Sasha tried to hold back the tears that threatened, but the look on Jazz’ face was too much for him. Not pity. Never that. But forbearance. Borne out of love for him. Shit, no one but his folks had ever cared this much about what happened to him. Well, except for Skye. The thought of Skye made him ache. He had betrayed her, if not in deed, certainly in every lustful fantasy his mind had spun about Lisette.

“I know,” Jazz whispered before pulling Sasha into a hug that must have hurt the younger teenager’s ribs.

“Now promise me you’re going to take a nap and forget all about this stuff.”

“Which stuff?” Sasha asked, a weak grin brightening his face.

“Atta boy. Now take off, man.”

“What if I run into Adam?”

“You won’t. He’s probably gone to ground. No one’s going to see him till he’s cooled down. Not even me.”

“How do you deal with that?” Sasha wasn’t sure how he would feel about a lover that intense.

“I just do.”

“Is it worth it?” Sasha just had to ask. He didn’t like to think that anyone, even Adam, might not treat Jazz with the love and respect he deserved.

Jazz smiled. “Oh, yeah.” He dropped his eyes, hiding the blaze of heat that surfaced in them from his best friend. “I know how he comes off. All possessive and all. But I know how much he loves me.”

“Good.” Pause. “I want you to be happy, Jazz.”

“I am.”

Sasha leaned forward and kissed Jazz on the cheek. “You tell him he’d better take good care of you or he’ll have to answer to me, okay?”

Jazz nodded.

He thought that would be the end of it. But he was wrong. Things were way too complicated to be that straightforward.

***

Lisette, if that was her real name, moved with a predator’s stealth and grace. If she appeared to be stalking her next victim, it could only be because she was.

At 18, Lisette found herself in domestic service, an honorable, if not exactly well-paying, profession. Tempted by the wrong people, not to mention their promises of wealth, she obtained a position at the Samuelle chateau. Her references were impeccable. She passed Birkoff’s security checks as well as Michael’s personal interview. She tripped off no hidden alarms in either man.

She seemed to be what she was. A maid.

But that was undoubtedly because Birkoff and Michael were looking for links to Section or one of the many terrorist groups that they combated. It never occurred to either of them that Michael’s increasing popularity as a writer might have untold consequences. He guarded his identity well; he took no unnecessary chances.

But it wasn’t enough. There was a tiny chink in the Samuelle armor…

…and it was walking downstairs right now.

***

Lisette lounged against the door of the kitchen, stopping the fourteen-year old who approached with a breathy, “Allo.”

Sasha’s dark brown eyes gleamed with interest, despite countless vows to keep his thoughts from straying. “Hi.”

“I missed you at lunch,” she pouted.

Sasha’s response was an irrepressible grin. “I was…um….busy.”

“Too busy to eat?” She drifted closer, her hands dangerously close to touching him. “You should never underestimate a good meal.”

Sasha blinked. She said that like she wanted to eat *him*. Shit, that was the wrong thought to have in her presence. He could feel himself getting hard. It wasn’t like he had all that much control over it. It happened at the damnedest times, too.

She was pretty. Luckily for him, she didn’t resemble Skye in any way. Not that it should matter, he mused as he forced his libido to pay attention. She was definitely off-limits. From the top of her brunette head to the bottom of her deliciously-shaped feet. How weird was that? He could feel arousal throbbing between his legs with deliberate defiance. Now he was getting off on her toes. Sheesh.

“Would you like me to…fix you something?” she drawled in a way that emphasized her full-cut sensual mouth.

Get a grip, Sasha, he told himself. She doesn’t mean anything. She’s just flirting. Messing with your head. It makes her feel good. Fuck, it makes *me* feel good, he thought.

“Umm…” He surreptitiously adjusted himself in his jeans, praying that she didn’t notice. But her sensuous giggle ended that line of thought.

She wore a short black skirt, a lacy pink apron relieving the darkness of her basic uniform. She reached for his hand, placing it on her thigh. Her very *naked* thigh. Sasha swallowed hard when his fingers came in contact with bare skin. Bare *female* skin.

“You’re not wearing stockings,” he said absently, his entire body tense with anticipation.

“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “Guess what else I’m not wearing?” she whispered saucily, winking at him.

Sasha seemed to have lost all motor control over his hand. She laughed and dragged his palm up and under the hem of her skirt. His dark eyes black, he could do nothing more than stare helplessly at the place where his hand had disappeared. Was she going to let him touch her…there?

What happened to kissing? What happened to touching her tits? What if…oh, God…she was wet?

She *was* wet. Lisette parted her legs, just a little bit, to give Sasha a better appreciation for what he was about to touch. His fingers sank into the damp tendrils guarding the entrance to her femininity and froze.

“Wouldn’t you like to—“

Wouldn’t I like to what? What? He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He couldn’t think. Hell, he couldn’t *breathe*.

“—do me?” she whispered huskily.

Oh, God. With a groan that he could barely conceal, he squeezed his eyes shut and came hard in his jeans.

Lisette’s lips curved in a feline smile. And so it began.