Ah. It didn’t take her lawyer skills to decipher where he was headed.

“You’re going to the historian?”

“Si.”

She reached out and grasped his arm. “Then I’ll go with you.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Jagr has been a recluse for centuries. He allows no one into his lair unless he has specifically agreed to meet with them.” Cezar grimaced. “Viper could barely convince him to see me. And it’s only with the promise I would come alone and never return that he even conceded that much.”

Holy crap. She’d met some peculiar scholars over the years, but this one seemed to take the cake.

“He sounds dangerous.”

“Not dangerous, just eccentric.” He covered her fingers with his own, the cool touch sending a jolt up the length of her arm. “I’ll be fine.”

She licked her lips. “And what about me? What if Morgana takes control of my mind again?”

He shifted closer, his expression somber. “I’ve asked Dante to call for Levet.”

“The gargoyle?”

“He possesses some magical abilities. He should be able to train you to shield your mind from Morgana.”

A shiver raced through her body that had nothing to do with the chilled wind. “I don’t like this.”

Bending his head, Cezar brushed his lips over her forehead. “Querida, I promise I will return soon. Until then you will be safe with Abby.”

It was the edge of concern in his voice that at last stiffened her sagging spine. Dammit. Hadn’t she told herself she wasn’t going to be that weak, clinging orphan ever again? Especially in front of Conde Cezar.

She was old enough (God, was she old enough) to stand on her own.

With an effort, she tilted her chin and squared her shoulders. Inwardly she might be a mess, but outwardly she had on her stiff upper lip.

She’d been raised British. She could do it with the best of them.

“When is Levet coming?”

Cezar’s features tightened. He really, really didn’t like the cute little gargoyle.

“Too soon for my taste.” He gave her another too-brief kiss before stepping back. “In fact I should be leaving before he arrives. One of these days I’m going to choke the life from that annoying little bastard. I’ll return before dawn.”

He turned, and within two steps had completely disappeared into the shadows.

Left on her own, Anna struggled against the cold sense of loneliness that washed through her like a tidal wave.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

She was in big trouble.

And it had nothing to do with Morgana-freaking-le-Fay.

Cezar studied the abandoned warehouse with a suspicious gaze. It didn’t look like the lair of a scholar. Hell, even the most fledgling vampires were able to enthrall mortals and acquire enough money to live in comfort.

Of course, this Jagr sounded like he took the solitary nature of vampires to the extreme.

Perhaps he preferred such an unwelcoming lair precisely because he wanted to be unwelcoming.

On the point of creeping forward, Cezar abruptly reached behind his back and pulled out his hidden daggers. In one smooth movement he turned to meet the vampire who slid from the shadows of a rusting dumpster.

The stranger was large, nearly as large as Styx, with pale skin, golden blond hair that he wore in a long braid down his back, and pale blue eyes that shimmered in the moonlight. It wasn’t his size, however, that made Cezar lift his brows. Or even the ancient robe that would attract precisely the sort of attention that most vampires tried to avoid.

It was the remote, distant expression on the starkly beautiful features.

Instinctively his fingers tightened on the dagger.

The vampire had the look of death.

Death he was willing to deal out without conscience or hesitation.

“You are Cezar?” he demanded, his voice a low rumble, as if he rarely used it.

“Si.” Cezar lifted a brow. “I’ll go out on a limb and assume you’re Jagr?”

The blond head dipped in a formal acknowledgment. “I am.”

“You have my thanks for allowing me to search your library.”

The blue eyes became downright frosty. “I do this because I am in debt to Viper.”

Ah, so that was it.

“You and nearly every other demon in Chicago,” he muttered dryly. “Al Capone was a lightweight in comparison to Viper.”

A hint of disdain touched the stark features. “It is not a monetary debt. Come.”

Charming.

Cezar grimaced as he followed the tall form into the shadows of the warehouse. It wasn’t unusual for vampires to resent allowing another demon into their lairs. They were territorial creatures. But the animosity that smoldered in the air was stirring his own natural instincts to assert his authority.

A dangerous combination that could lead to all sorts of bad things.

Reminding himself that Anna was depending on him, Cezar resisted the urge to ram his dagger in the center of that broad back. Instead he concentrated on avoiding the piles of rotting trash as he waited for Jagr to tug open a hidden trap door in the floor and reluctantly followed the vampire down the narrow steps into the damp tunnel beneath.

“You know, if you wanted atmosphere there are several lovely sweatshops to choose from,” he muttered.

Jagr never halted his swift pace. “I agreed to allow you to view my library, not to bandy lame jokes, Cezar.”

The dagger twitched in his hand. “Are you naturally this surly or is it something you work at?”

The blond head briefly turned. “I’m working at it now.”

Cezar’s steps faltered before he gave a short laugh. “Fair enough.”

He allowed the silence to go undisturbed as Jagr halted before a heavy steel door blocking the tunnel. Several moments passed before the door at last swung open and they were headed down another tunnel that ended in yet another door.

Cezar gave a silent shake of his head. Even for a vampire this Jagr took his security to an extreme.

There was another wait as Jagr dealt with the numerous locks and hexes, then as the second door swung open he stepped aside and waved Cezar into the room ahead of him.

On full guard, Cezar stepped over the threshold, ready for anything that might leap out of the dark. Jagr was obviously capable of any number of nasty surprises.

When there were no fangs sinking into his throat or claws ripping open his flesh, he slowly lowered his dagger. In that same moment, Jagr clicked the switch and the long, steel-lined room was flooded with light.

Cezar’s eyes widened, a flare of envy racing through him at the long rows of shelves that were filled with hundreds of leather-bound books.

“Dios.” He stepped forward, wishing that he had days, not hours to explore the shelves. Viper hadn’t been exaggerating when he said this Jagr was a historian. “This is astonishing.”

Indifferent to Cezar’s pleasure, the vampire swept past him and pointed toward a distant shelf.

“The books that I’ve collected on Morgana are there.”

“Do you have any that specifically deal with her retreat to Avalon?”

“A few, although most were written by fairies and are nothing more than the usual gibberish of poems and legends.” The blue eyes flashed with distaste. “They have little sense of history.”

“Great.”

On the point of moving forward, Cezar was brought to an abrupt halt as Jagr appeared directly before him, an unmistakable warning etched onto his pale features. “You may remain in this vault for as long as you need, but do not try to leave on your own. I will escort you out when you are done.”

Cezar narrowed his gaze, refusing to back away. “You don’t have the books hexed, do you?”

“There are many that would cause harm to the unwary, but not those concerning Morgana.”

“You’re a little paranoid, aren’t you?”

“I’ve learned the hard way to be paranoid.”

“Haven’t we all?”

In the blink of an eye, Jagr had Cezar pressed against the steel wall, his fangs extended in anger.

“Some more than others.”

Cezar flashed his own fangs. “Do you have a point?”

The blue eyes were chips of ice. “Not all of us have been pampered pets for the Oracles.”

“Pampered?” The lights flickered as Cezar used his powers to thrust the large vampire away. There was a pained grunt and then a hiss of frustration as Cezar used his thoughts to keep Jagr pinned against the shelf. Damn the churlish recluse. Did he think he was the only one who ever had a glimpse of hell? “For your information, I’ve spent two centuries as a slave for the simple transgression of taking the blood of the wrong woman. I’ve been isolated, sometimes left alone in my barren room for years on end with nothing to occupy me but books and a Pectos demon who was mute. I’ve been forced to battle demons who sought to kill me for no other reason than their hatred for the Commission. I have been forced to kill brothers in the name of justice. I have been forced to remain a eunuch, kept away from the one woman I could still desire…”