I stared in stunned amazement at my master.  His face was as unmarked as 
the day he died.  The rough furrowed scars from the holy water torture he had 
endured all those centuries ago had been smoothed away as if they'd never 
been.  Other than the portrait I'd just seen tonight, I'd never seen him 
without the scars.  His beauty was absolutely glorious.
     
I had NEVER felt so betrayed.
     
He'd said that the scars I had seen, had touched, had even felt within 
myself during our most intimate moments...had been merely glamour...an 
illusion.  I wasn't sure whether to be angry at him for lying to me all this 
time, or terrified that he was powerful enough to maintain such an elaborate 
deception even during his own physical release.
     
But wait, I *had* seen him without the scars...once.  For a split second 
after I'd slammed him with a burst of power during our fight the previous 
night...his face had been unmarked save for the cut I'd just opened up.  I 
must have *really* startled him with that.
     
The anger was starting to win over the fear.  I could feel it building 
just as it had that night.  I was trembling with the effort to control 
myself.  Apparently, everyone else in the room, except perhaps Anita, could 
sense it, too.  Jason, holding Kylie, was eyeing me with apprehension.  She 
was whimpering like she was in pain.  Richard looked startled, like he'd 
never really seen me before.  On Jean-Claude's face was naked lust...power is 
the ultimate aphrodisiac.  Asher just had a look of waiting, irritatingly 
neutral.
     
Ramses' statement was sorrowful understanding.  He turned to Jason and 
said, "Take Kylie back to her room, Jason.  She needs to be away from this, 
now."
     
"Tamara wouldn't hurt her, she's not like that," Jason protested, but I 
could hear the doubt in his voice.
     
"Better do what he says, Jason," I advised.  "I wouldn't hurt her on 
purpose, but I don't know how much longer I can hold it together...and I 
don't know what'll happen if I can't."  I really didn't want to hurt Kylie.  
I had no quarrel with her, just with Asher.  Jason carried her out of the 
room without any further argument.
     
Dr. Lillian chose that moment to speak up, "Try to control it, miss.  
That much rampant power won't do Anita any good."
     
I nodded my understanding, now if only I could get myself calmed down.  
But this was too big of a lie to just let it slide.
     
"How could you?" I asked, voice trembling.  I realized I was on the 
verge of tears. 
     
"I am sorry, ma rose d'acier," Asher began.
     
"SORRY?  You make me believe a lie...from the moment I first met you.  
You even go to elaborate measures to maintain the lie regardless of how 
intimate we were...and you're *sorry*?"  I nearly shouted.
     
"I did it to protect Kylie.  The Council cannot learn that the Absorber 
has been reborn.  They would hunt her down and kill her...again," Asher 
stated with some passion.
     
Good, a slight change of subject that I could concentrate on.  Maybe 
this could help me get my temper under control...or at least redirect the 
anger in a direction that wouldn't result in someone getting hurt.  I grasped 
desperately at that hope.  I hated the though of letting my emotions control 
me.
     
"The Absorber?  Do you mean the voice I heard?  The one that identified 
herself as 'Jules'?" I asked.  
     
"Oui, she once inhabited Julianna," Asher confirmed.
     
"And before that, an Egyptian princess named Isiseori," Ramses added.  
"Both times, the council found her and tried to destroy her."
     
"The princess wasn't her first host, though was she," I said.  I 
remember Jules saying that neither had been her first host.
     
This time, Jean-Claude answered.  "No, cherie, originally, the Absorber 
was a member of the Council.  They feared her ability to absorb magic, 
thinking she would steal their powers away from them forever, so they 
destroyed her, or so they thought.  To the best of our knowledge, Kylie is 
her third host.  If there were others, they lived and died unknown."
     
It was a little unnerving to hear Jean-Claude's voice in full seduction 
mode accompanying that explanation.  The difference in what was being said 
and HOW it was being said was almost like watching a badly dubbed foreign 
movie.  The tone of voice just didn't fit the words at all.  That, and I 
*really* didn't care for the way he was looking at me at the moment.
     
My anger was ebbing away, but the surplus power remained, like a static 
charge waiting to shock the crap out of ya.  I locked onto something Asher 
had said.
     
"You said that the Council would hunt her down and kill her *again*," I 
looked right at him.  "So I *was* right...Belle Morte *did* have a hand in 
what happened to you."
     
"In part, yes, but she did not act alone," he acknowledged.
     
"Still, she must pay for her part in it," my voice had gone low with 
redirected anger.  I'd found a new target, not *really* a SAFE target, but 
better than the current alternatives.
     
Asher smiled, then chuckled.  "Oh, ma rose d'acier, you never cease to 
amaze me.  You go from being furious with me to wishing to avenge past wrongs 
against me."  He took a few steps towards me.  I held up my hand, motioning 
him to stop.
     
"Don't," I said.  I was upset enough that my eyes must have been 
practically glowing green.  "I'm still upset with you, and hurt that you 
didn't trust me.  To my knowledge, I have *never* given you reason to 
distrust me, Asher.  But, I understand why you kept your healing a secret."
     
He moved towards me again.  I felt tears trail down finally as I stopped 
him again.  "No, mon beau angel d'morte, the power buildup is still in me, it 
will take some time to dissipate.  I don't want to hurt you again like I did 
last night."  He stopped.
     
"SHE gave you that cut you had earlier, mon ami?" Jean-Claude asked.
     
"Oui," Asher answered, a look of pride on his face.  When Jean-Claude 
looked back at me, his statement was something closely akin to hunger.  It 
made me nervous.
     
Ramses kept whatever he was thinking to himself.  His face was politely 
blank.
     
I looked down at my hands and the small bundle of fabric in them.  I'd 
forgotten I had it.  Ramses had given it to me to hold while he'd put my 
blouse on Kylie.  I spread it out between my hands for a better look.  Green 
velvet and satin...it looked like it had started life as a rather lovely top, 
if a bit of a revealing one.  Now the front of it and what was left of a 
built in bra looked like it had been run through a shredder and hung in 
ribbons.  It occurred to me then that Kylie might not have been nude by 
choice when we'd walked in.  She HAD been running from the room when Asher 
had frightened her.  The whole situation was beginning to look more and more 
like what had happened had bordered on being rape.
     
That did *not* sit well with me...at all.  I had survived rape, myself, 
twenty-four years ago.  It was something that would never leave me.  I wanted 
to know just exactly *what* had happened here.  The anger was coming back.
     
"Who did this?" I asked quietly, holding up the ragged bodice.  No one 
spoke.  "Who...DID...this?" I repeated, my temper simmering.  Still no one 
answered.  But I caught movement.  Richard was fidgeting.  Next to him, 
Jean-Claude stood nonchalant.  The lecherous glances he'd been shooting at me 
for the past few minutes were gone, replaced by a politely amused mask.
     
I advanced on the two of them, but didn't get too close.  I wasn't so 
carried away by anger as to be *stupid*.
     
"Was it you, Jean-Claude?  No," I answered my own question.  "No, 
bodice-ripping just doesn't strike me as your style.  You're more of a 
seducer.  And don't think for a minute that I'm fooled by that mask.  You're 
guilty of *something*.  I would never make the mistake of describing *you* as 
innocent."  He smiled a particularly wicked little smile, like he was 
imagining doing things that I *really* didn't want to know about right then.  
Then he sketched a shallow bow, his gaze only dipping momentarily to my 
cleavage.
     
"So, I guess that just leaves you...Dick," I turned to Richard, my voice 
dripping with as much scorn as was humanly possible.  "I would never have 
thought it of *you*."
     
He at least had the grace to look ashamed of himself, which confirmed 
his guilt.  "I need to go check on Carrie," he muttered.
     
"Who's Carrie?" I asked.
     
"His girlfriend," Jean-Claude supplied.  My eyebrows tried to migrate to 
my scalp.  'Oh, *really*?' I thought.  Out loud, I said, "Yeah, you go do 
that Dick."  
     
He started to leave the room.  "Oh, and Ulfric," I called after him.  He 
stopped and turned to look at me.  "Don't you *ever* give me shit about who 
I'm with or what I'm doing ever again.  I still remember how you acted 
towards me when I finally gave in to Asher's advances...all scandalized and 
censorious because I was already married.  You, of all people, have no right 
to look at me like I'm some...whore!"  Especially after what you've done here 
tonight, I left unsaid.
     
He turned and left without a word.
     
"You are married, yet you consented to become HIS servant?" Ramses 
asked, apparently entertaining some doubts about *my* character.  I wanted to 
be mad about that, but it was kind of hard to be.  I'd entertained the same 
doubts myself...as recently as this evening.
     
"Consented wouldn't be the term I would have chosen," I said in reply.
     
"But you are servant to this...adolescent libertine, and *married*...you 
*are* still married," he made it a question.
     
"Yes, I am," I answered.  "But I did not *initially* choose to be 
Asher's servant.  And he didn't bother to find out that I was married before 
he marked me...not that I think that would have stopped him."
     
"I do not recall you being terribly upset about it at the time, cherie," 
Asher commented, sounding a bit miffed himself.
     
"Hey, I'm on a roll tonight.  Deal with it," I growled as I stalked past 
him and out of the room. 
     
Halfway back to the living room, I heard the sound of a tremendous 
ruckus.  Furniture smashing, various animal cries and roars, and yelling.  
The racket brought the vampires out into the hall behind me.  One voice 
sounded clear above all the other noise.
     
"Somebody get this freaking fanged fruitloop off my bear!!" a strident 
female voice yelled.  Shit!  I'd forgotten about Kimmy and Tim.  What the 
heck had she gotten into now?  I ran for the living room.  Jean-Claude, 
Asher, and Ramses followed at a more cautious pace.
     
I slipped through the curtain-walls and into a scene of pure 
pandemonium.  A few new faces had joined the gathering of weres.  A young, 
auburn-haired man was hugging Kimmy to his chest in an apparent attempt to 
restrain her.  She was trying to get to Tim.  Stephen stood in between her 
and Tim.
     
Meanwhile, Damien and another vamp (this one dressed like a cross 
between a used car salesman and a Ringling Bros. clown) were trying to pull 
Gretchen *off* of Tim.  Well, that at least told who was the "fanged 
fruitloop."  The would-be rescuers weren't having very much success, though.  
Gretchen was fastened on like a tick.
     
Tim was roaring and thrashing about in a vain attempt to dislodge the 
little blonde vampire.  I could see him weakening visibly with each 
heartbeat.  If they didn't get her off soon, she'd kill him.
     
"Gretal, release him...NOW!" Jean-Claude's voice thundered through the 
room.  She raised her bloody face from the ruin of Tim's neck with a snarl at 
the sound of her master's voice.  Her eyes were filled with a feral light, 
leaving no doubt in my mind that she was quite insane...not a good thing for 
a master vampire to be.  Her statement changed briefly to one of fear then 
of pleading as she recognized Jean-Claude.  In an instant, she was at his 
feet, clinging to his legs, gazing up at him...Tim's blood still smeared 
across her face like some grotesque mask.
     
"You don't *need* her, Jean-Claude.  I can take care of your needs!  I 
love you!  Please send her away, please!  It's not *fair*!  You were MINE 
first!  Mine!...Before that woman took you away from me and made you lock me 
away.  And now that she's finally left, this *brat* thinks she can just step 
in and keep you from me!  Don't let that happen, Jean-Claude!  Master, I'm 
begging you, take ME not *her*!" she pleaded and ranted.
     
Jean-Claude's face was an emotionless mask as he looked down at the 
pleading vampire.  "You have offered deadly insult to my guests, woman.  
Kimberly is my pomme de sang and under my protection.  How dare you attack 
her or her escort?" his voice was deadly cold.  I was glad I wasn't on the 
receiving end of that anger.
     
He reached down and grasped her wrist hard enough that I could hear the 
bones grinding together.  It had to hurt, but her face didn't show it.  
Instead, Gretchen looked at her master with nothing but adoration and joy 
that he was *touching* her.  Here was a woman that would let the man she 
loved beat her to a bloody pulp and be glad of the attention.  
     
Jean-Claude lifted her to her feet.  "I *should* destroy you for this, 
but I will not.  You will be returned to your prison for the duration of my 
guests' visit," he pronounced judgment.  "Then we will decide what should 
ultimately be done with you."
     
The look on her face changed instantly to panicked horror.  Finally she 
began to struggle in his grasp.  "NO!" she shrieked.  "PLEASE Jean-Claude, 
don't put me back in that horrible box!  I can't go back there!  Please!  I 
*promise* I'll be good...I PROMISE.  Master, don't do this!  I love you!  I 
just want to be *with* you!"
     
Jean-Claude lifted his other hand to her face almost gently.  She 
stilled instantly and gazed at him.  "Sleep," he said and caught her limp 
form as she slumped into unconsciousness.  Cradling her in his arms, he 
looked down at her lovely, blood-smeared face, and a fleeting look of sorrow 
crossed his features.  I was just close enough that I could hear him whisper, 
"Forgive me, Gretal.  I should never have brought you over."
     
He returned his attention to the rest of us.  "Pardon moi, I must tend 
to this matter," he said.  "Willie, see that my guests want for nothing.  
Stephen, run fetch Dr. Lillian to tend to the wounded...Mon Dieu!  Is his 
hair PINK?"  He'd finally noticed Tim, who'd reverted to his human form when 
he lost consciousness.
     
"He shouldn't have messed with my puppets," Kimmy muttered quietly, 
looking at the floor.
     
Jean-Claude looked at Asher questioningly.  He just gave an elegant 
shrug in reply.
     
"Damien, come with me," Jean-Claude ordered, then carried Gretchen out 
of the room.  Damien looked apprehensive but obediently trailed in his wake.
     
I turned to Kimmy while we waited for Stephen to return with the doctor. 
"What set her off like that?" I asked.
     
"She was being a jerk..," Kimmy mumbled.
     
"Kimmy...."
     
"All I did was answer her question," she told me, acting innocent.
     
"Uh huh, *what* question?"
     
"She asked me who I was and why I was here," she stated.  She was going 
to *make* me drag it out of her.
     
"And what exactly did you say?" I prodded.
     
"That I was your friend, Kimmy, and that I had come to help..."
     
"And..."
     
"To help Jean-Claude..."
     
"All right, Kimmy, I can tell that there's more...out with it," I 
insisted.
     
"...in the bedroom," her voice came out small.
     
"Yep, that would probably do it," I rolled my eyes.
     
But Kimmy wasn't done yet.  "Then she seemed to get *really* upset.  I 
know vampires don't drink coffee, but I figured they could at least taste a 
sip or two, so I simply offered to fix her a *gingerbread* latte to help 
soothe her nerves," she finished with a brilliant, completely unbelievable 
smile...the one that said "I know I'm a brat, but, dammit, I'm a CUTE brat."
     
I remembered one of the reasons why I didn't have any children.  They'd 
never survive past oven-sized.  I kept *that* thought to myself, wouldn't do 
to encourage her.  Asher had heard it, though, and had to stifle a small 
laugh.
     
"So Tim was defending you.  That why she was latched onto him like 
that?" I confirmed.  Kimmy nodded.
     
Dr. Lillian arrived in the room and examined Tim.  The throat wound was 
already closed over, but she felt he needed to be taken back to the clinic 
and kept for observation until the next evening at least.  He'd lost a lot of 
blood.  I sent Kimmy with them to keep watch on him, since he was wounded 
because of protecting her.  She even agreed to letting him put on some normal 
clothes instead of the horrid cupid costume when he woke up.
     
I thanked Stephen for imposing himself between my friend and the fight, 
then turned to the auburn-haired man that had held her back from the fight, 
to thank him, too.  I noticed that his hair was pulled back in a braid that I 
was amazed to see reached nearly to his ankles.
     
"Damn, and I thought *I* used to have long hair," I exclaimed before I 
could stop myself.  (I was letting mine grow back out after cutting it *real* 
short a little over two years ago; it had been down to my knees before I'd 
cut it.)  "Hi, I'm Asher's servant, Tamara," I introduced myself, holding my 
hand out to shake.  "Thank you for keeping Kimmy from getting herself hurt."
     
He took my hand in both of his.  "I'm Nathaniel, and it was my 
pleasure," he answered, then lifted my hand to his face and rubbed his cheek 
against it.  Asher had told me that one of Anita's leopards was named 
Nathaniel.  I guessed that this must be him.  On an impulse, I rolled the 
edge of his ear between my thumb and fingers, like I would pet one of my 
house cats.  I was rewarded with a rumbling purr as his lilac eyes 
half-closed in pleasure.  I grinned in spite of myself.
     
An unfamiliar male voice said, "Why dontcha come over here, pussy.  I've 
got something you can pet."
     
I glanced behind me just in time to see a golden blur that was Asher 
snatch up a smaller man and slam him up against the stone wall next to the 
fireplace.  The man was tanned, with curly dark brown hair.  His hands were 
cuffed behind his back and a piece of duct tape dangled by one corner from 
his cheek.
     
"Mrs. Lowery and Miss Everett are *ladies*, and YOU are not fit to 
address them!  You will keep a civil tongue in your head when speaking around 
them, or I will rip it out," Asher snarled.  I wondered what Jules had told 
*him* that had him riled at this guy on *Kylie's* behalf as well as mine.
     
The guy didn't looked too awfully worried...he should have.
     
"I will not try to prevent him from doing so, Caleb," Micah added in.  
"I've already given you all the warning *I* will give."  Caleb's face sobered 
a little at that.  If he answered to Micah, then he must be another leopard, 
I surmised.  Asher let him drop to the floor.
     
Turning to the loudly dressed vampire that I assumed was Willie, Asher 
said, "Please give Jean-Claude my apologies for not waiting for his return.  
Tamara and I need to get our things settled in our room."
     
"Sure, no prob," Willie answered in a slightly nasally voice.  He 
sounded like a flunky in a mobster movie.
     
Asher offered me his arm.  I was still upset with the whole scar 
business, but we needed to put on a good show for our audience.  So I 
accepted his arm, and he escorted me back to his private quarters here at the 
Circus.