Seraphina drowsed again, fully contented, and warmly curled against him. Sunlight framed the edges of the heavy drapes on the picture window, marking the time of day as mid-morning, and illuminating the room enough to allow Khan to study her in innocent repose. Even asleep, she remained a ripe temptation, as he willed his fingers to behave a while yet. She would surely sleep past checkout time, allowing them a convenient excuse to remain until nightfall-at least—so that his patience now would be rewarded with untold hedonistic pleasures in the hours in between.

She had given herself over to him repeatedly through the night, and like a man whose thirst only grew from drinking without limit from a bottomless cup, Khan's continued need for her remained greater than he had reckoned it would be, overriding his vital obligation-and simple, common sense. He knew himself enough to understand that the reasons for this reckless behavior went far beyond his desire for physical gratification; he had carried an emptiness inside, from well before his long sleep, and the time spent in Alexander Marcus's cells had honed that feeling into a knife's edge, quietly cutting him to the quick. The man he saw reflected in Seraphina's eyes was his ideal self—and her compassion and passion had begun to fill that emptiness, in ways he had never anticipated. Khan was keenly aware that she was fast falling in love with him, despite how jaggedly he had ripped her from her life—and with every moment spent in her company, he felt his delicious little flower taking deep, deep root in the long forbidden places of his heart. Khan hadn't the will to turn away from everything she offered him...just yet.

And so he had carefully calculated the odds of their discovery, and deeming the risk acceptably low, he had chosen to tarry here. His people—his family—were going nowhere; they remained in their frozen sleep. Marcus had taunted him with photographic proof on several occasions, believing it motivation enough for Khan to cooperate in full. Khan had used those incidents to gather as much information as he could regarding the conditions of their captivity, cataloguing the details to aid him in their rescue when opportunity would arise. He knew his opponent well enough to expect the admiral to leave Khan's crew exactly where they rested now, for they were the only bait that held any meaning for him.

Until Seraphina, of course.

Khan would never allow her to be harmed again, taken, threatened, toyed with by those seeking his capture. His fierce commitment to protect his people now extended to her. He would lay down his life, if need be, to shield and shelter her. And if he could not save her from a most dis fate at the hands of his enemies, he would—as mercifully as he could-take her life himself.

Softly she stirred, but did not awaken. In the lull of some dream (Khan hoped it was as pleasant as the waking dream she had become to him), Seraphina shifted a bit, nestling even closer into him. He closed his eyes, breathing in the simple beauty of the moment, thinking he should sleep a while himself, finally allowing himself to drift away-his last conscious thought that of savoring the beloved scent of honey and jasmine, which had only just begun to fade from Seraphina's hair.

Augments dreamed as easily as lesser men, but—courtesy of their superior minds—their dreams were far more vivid and literal than the fuzzy, symbolic dreams of ordinary homo sapiens. And blessed as they were with nearly picture perfect memories, Augments dreams seldom evaporated like mist upon awakening.

Khan had taken Seraphina's perfume into the depths of his dreams, and his reward was bittersweet—the bittersweet he had delayed each time the scent memory had threaten to overwhelm him in the waking world. His youth now played out before him, in colors as vibrant as though he were living those days again.

Honey. Jasmine. His first delicate flower. He'd been fifteen when he had taken her—the lovely girl so wholly willing—well outside of the strictures laid down upon his kind. His seed was not to be wasted in breeding with inferior stock. But that one—his dear little Inaaya—had spirit and beauty worthy of a prince. Had love in her heart enough to fill an ocean. Love enough to see past the monster which many believed the genetically engineered to be.

Khan had been schooled in the act of pleasure and procreation, as befitted his station, first by grown women of his own kind, and then by lesser females—all sterilized, to prevent conception of a hybrid—to slake the tidal force, the powerful hunger, of his burgeoning adolescent lusts. His mistake—his crime—was to feel a tenderness for a creature as far below him as a street mongrel was to a Himalayan wolf. That tenderness burned like a flame in his chest, shocking him and rivaling that biological imperative that all teenage boys experience. No one had been wise enough to warn him that such feelings only led to pain.

Ina's sweet face, her slender limbs and budding bosom, her quiet ways, and her forbidden hungers that had ever matched his own—all memories stirred from the depths of his mind by a swath of Seraphina's hair—drew tears of regret and painful sorrow from his eyes as he slept. His little Inaaya, gentle as a lamb in service of his household, but fierce as his own flame in the lovemaking they had shared. Unashamed she had been, unabashed, to moan confessions of her love for him, each time he had taken her. That was a secret he had buried deep; deeper each year he had moved away from those callow days, onto the destiny he'd been taught awaited him.She had loved him unselfishly, and ever seemed a well of giving, always aiming to please him, guilelessly believing their trysts were part of some absurd, romantic fairy tale.

And of course, when she had eventually ripened (in his lucid dreaming, Khan felt a hot shaft of pain centered in his chest as he saw again with dreadful clarity, the beautiful fullness of her pregnant form; recalling too, his youthful pride in that physical manifestation of his virility) Inayaa's abiding love for him was enough to make her bravely bear the child that inevitably took her life. He'd been forced to watch the labor, to learn the lesson well; to strengthen him, toughen him; to teach him not to make that same mistake again. The doctors could have taken the child by Cesarean, but had not, allowing instead for his dear, sweet flower to be torn fatally inside—howling in pain as she brought the boy forth—and then falling silent as her lifeblood gushed from her shredded womb in the poor baby's wake. He had wanted to hold the little mewling babe in the aftermath, to feel its strong, steady heartbeat, a living remnant of their passionate affair, but they had whisked the child away even before Inaaya's body had grown cool. Not as punishment, but simply as another lesson. When he finally set his eyes upon the boy again, Joachim was an adolescent himself, a total stranger to his sire—and Khan himself the leader he'd been groomed to be, with no time for such attachments, as he fought the wars that mankind razed against his people…

Khan awoke with a gasp, his face damp with dream tears, his urge to flee those visions so strong that he had risen from his pillow to sit up before he was fully awake. He might have bolted from the bed if not for the gentle soul at his side. "It's alright, John," she crooned, holding his flushed face in her cool hands, "Whatever it is, it's a dream…"

"Inaaya," he whispered, and for a moment, his vision doubled, and it was Ina's well-loved face before him; he blinked hard to restore his sight to normal, and there was Seraphina's lovely face exactly as should be. Her brow was creased with concern, as she sought to calm and assuage him. She placed a palm against his forehead, checking for fever, and then let her hand linger, trying to soothe him as best she could. With the lightest touch, she traced her fingertips against his temple, encouraging him to relax and lay back on his pillow. Seraphina echoed the promise he'd made when she had needed his comfort in that fateful alley, kissing his forehead, his cheek, and then beside his ear, "You're safe, John…I swear it. Those men can't hurt you now. I'm with you, and…and I'm not going anywhere." She kissed his mouth gently, breathing against his lips, "We're safe now—I promise you."

He closed his eyes, focusing on the tenderness in Seraphina's voice, and in her touch. The dream had been agonizingly real, the pain as fresh as the day he'd lost his dear Inaaya—and it was all too slow to fade. Coupled with that was shame for his weakness and loss of control, and for allowing what should now be inconsequential, to unman him so.

Khan felt her shift her weight a bit, as she grabbed a bottle of water from the bedside table. "Drink this," she told him, "Slow and easy, okay?" He cracked one eyelid open, and nodded his acceptance, taking the bottle from her, and obediently following her instructions. The cool water brought relief to his parched throat, helping to ground him in the present.

"There…that's better, isn't it?" Her quiet patience was the exact solace he needed—though he never would have asked for such. Still troubled, and wholly unwilling for her to see how badly he'd been shaken, Khan nodded, allowing her to believe it was.

Seraphina was studying him carefully, searching perhaps for a crack in his façade. "I am well, Sera," he told her, modulating his voice to cover any hint of vulnerability, "There is no need for concern. A ridiculous dream, only." He managed a smile, for her sake alone.

"Of course," she nodded, though clearly not convinced, "Just a dream." Looking down, she took his hand, her manner deferential. "And what is… inayaa?"

Khan drew a deep breath, indulging her curiosity, "Oh, my sweet, merely a ghost from my long-forgotten past." As she looked doubtful, he added, "Insubstantial, and holding no sway outside the world of dreams."

Skeptical still, she accepted his answer, "A powerful ghost, to disturb you like this." Closing her eyes, she lifted his hand close and brushed her lips across his knuckles. Khan shivered at the sweetness of it; at the kindness of her spirit, reading the unspoken truth and allowing him his dignity. Her lips lingered on his skin, her moist breath teasing him with the promise of all she was willing to give to help him hold such painful memories at bay. His pulse quickened with that realization.

Seraphina smiled languorously, taking her time, laying his palm against her breast. He ran his thumb over her stiffened nipple, savoring the growth of her desire, as she closed the space between them. She held his hand in place against her, pressing him to press her harder, while adorning his neck with soft, healing kisses, and encouraging him to lay fully back. His tension began to drain away, replaced by ardent anticipation.

When her face hovered over his, the softness in her eyes mirrored the ready tenderness of her heart, almost overwhelming him with wonder that mere chance alone had brought her to him at such a low and desperate time in his life. Khan had never believed in the old religion which some of his contemporaries had chosen to embrace. Of symmetry and the circle of life; of death and return and rebirth. Losing Inaaya in so cruel a manner had cured him of even the faintest belief that there was any sense or order to the universe, especially that which might have been set in place by a benevolent power beyond the visible world. And he was a man of science and reason after all-leaving no place in his life for the comfort of such a philosophy.

But this woman-this gentle Seraphina-was so like his Inaaya, in such vital ways, that Khan found himself reconsidering the myths of the ancient creed that had dominated the culture he came from. That his dear one had been lost to him hundreds of years ago—it was madness to believe Seraphina could be Inaaya returned to him. And yet he wished with all his heart that it could be so…

"What?" she asked quietly, likely surprised by the softness such reflections must have brought to his eyes. She smoothed the fingers of her right hand through his hair, resting them there, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. Moving her head back slightly, Sera encouraged him to speak, "Tell me please—and I'll banish this ghost however I can." And then, shyly as though she had somehow transgressed upon his privacy, she added, "If that's something that you'd have me do."

Khan threaded one hand in the silky fall of her hair, captivated by her beauty—for it was far greater than her physical appearance alone. In the heat of passion, he had called her his treasure, and she was proving it effortlessly with each passing hour. "No ghost exists that could stand against your gentle heart," he told her, his voice grown low and urgent, and rich with wanting her again, "No darkness that you could not dispel with your bright light." He pulled her close, to lie atop him, and laid claim to her mouth with a hungry, searing kiss.

Seraphina accepted that she was a changed woman since the desert. Hell, she knew she was forever changed from the woman she had been, in the moment they'd entered this room and locked the rest of the world away

John Harrison. Instinctively, she had recognized that his name was false, but Sera no longer cared; the only truth she craved now was the taste of his mouth on hers, the caress of his strong hands upon her flesh, and the glorious sensation of him stretching her, filling her, completing her-and satisfying her as no man in her past ever had. Shamelessly, intimately, claiming her as his own—while claiming her heart in ways well beyond the physical.

To say Harrison was unlike any man she had ever known was a naive understatement. His authoritative manner and persuasive charisma had hit her hard within minutes of being in his presence. Harrison's jet black hair and exotic, fascinating eyes, his handsome, angular features, and his tall, lean, muscular build all conspired to overcome her initial misgivings; and he moved with a coiled, steely grace that was deceptively easy—until need forced him to spring forth and relentlessly overwhelm an opponent. Or—heaven help her—to quite literally sweep her off her feet.

Seraphina found his speech archaic, almost poetic at times—which made for a powerful appeal to the minstrel and artist in her soul. Even when his voice turned gruff and dangerous, it was dark silk…and lush velvet…and always-always- somehow commanding, as though he was used to being obeyed without question. She couldn't resist it, and at her core she had no desire to.

And when he spoke her name? It was like a dark, decadent caress, so that she had to fight to focus on the moment just to keep her knees from going weak. Spoken in their intimacies, it was deep and low and unrelenting, an invitation to every secret sin she had ever fantasized about. After the things he'd done to her through the night—and the things they'd done together—Sera felt no shame in admitting to herself that she grew aroused just hearing her name issue from his ever-tempting lips.

Such was his power over her, and Sera could deny him nothing.

At times, he had grown a bit rough with her-though never enough to hurt her; but she had clung to him all the tighter each time, as years of secret fantasies of being taken by storm, found wanton fruition in this dark, mysterious lover. But he was so much more than that; Harrison's potent virility and strength, his commanding presence and cunning brilliance, masked a surprising tenderness and unexpected vulnerability—making for an irresistible combination. Witness to whatever sorrow had revisited him in his dream, Seraphina now ached to be the balm for any pain he had ever endured.

Oh, he was powerful alright, in every delicious way a woman might imagine. But in the hours since they'd met, he had unwittingly awoken Seraphina's power: strength and confidence in the face of dire adversity, and a fiery will to live. A desire to love and be loved passionately, and to never settle for anything less. And in this moment, in this private world where only she and John Harrison existed, her soul responded to his soul's unspoken need, moving her to love him with unparalleled abandon.

Every inch of his skin was subject to her adoration; having learned what pleased him best, Sera focused on his pleasure alone. Her hands exploring the firm contours his musculature, her lips and tongue, tasting and teasing his smooth flesh. Grazing his marvelous skin with her teeth, leaving love bites where he was most sensitive. Deep moans rose from his chest as he rooted his hands in her hair, urging her along to where he longed for her attention. She was dizzy with the joy of it; of this spectacular, powerful man allowing her to lead. Having submitted to his will again and again, the feel of her growing power over him was intoxicating.

From along his lowest ribs, Seraphina kissed her way to his navel, relishing the taste and the smell of his skin, and how he began to move beneath her. "My dark prince," she murmured, moving her mouth slowly downward, trailing her hands to his hips, "Beautiful stranger…lover divine…" Words that came unfiltered from her heart, for she could not conceal the truth of the feelings he'd awakened in her.

Khan tightened his fingers in her hair, and moaned her name; he was rock hard and ready for whatever she intended. Sera pressed her breasts against him, and he rocked his pelvis to meet her, seeking sweet friction-and the feel of him there heightened her own arousal. She covered his hot flesh in moist kisses from hip to hip, moaning a little herself at the sinful sensation of his cock trapped against her—and at the thought of what she wanted to do to him.

She continued with insistent, loving kisses, growing steadily closer to her goal; Khan ground against her, anticipating her exquisite purpose. His musk filled her senses, heightening her hunger to please him. Seraphina paused, tilting her head so she could look up at him, at the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply, at his beautiful mouth falling open with a frustrated groan as she left off. Khan tugged hard enough at her hair to make the roots smart, demanding in that way that she continue. Though she still held him in her sway, Sera was thrilled to comply. She slid down his body just that little bit more and began to taste his engorged member.

First, with the lightest brush of her lips along the length of his erection, going slowly to draw out his delight; then swirling her tongue from its base to the ridge on the bell end and back again. He hissed out a curse, when she lightened her contact, testing and teasing him, and he thrust his hips upward, soundlessly pleading for more. She responded by cupping his testes gently and stroking them with her thumb, while circling the flat of her tongue around the head of his cock. His voiced strained as he implored her repeatedly to take him in her mouth; Sera had never felt more rife with sexual power in her life.

Nor had she ever enjoyed this act more, knowing that she was fulfilling this beautiful man's need. Rising up a bit, encasing him in her other hand while continuing to fondle his balls, she licked his tip several times, joyful to partake of his salty flavor—and finally, finally, she moistened her lips and settled them around him.

"Ahhhh…ohhhh…fuck yes, my sweet…my beautiful one…" he growled, arching into her mouth, "My little goddess…drink me in…empty me…"

His words enflamed her; her fervor to satisfy him in this way was now equaled by how keenly she ached to feel his hardness fill her below, so to ride him until they were both spent. Seraphina drew on him slowly, patiently, while stroking him firmly in hand with the same rhythm. Carefully reading how much longer he might last, while judging not to take him too deep; to the edge and no more, for she had decided to take her share of pleasure from him as well.

Sera could feel how badly he wanted to drive himself further into her mouth—a daunting prospect given his size; but he'd shown her a care in their lovemaking through the night, an unasked for restraint when it came to anything that might truly hurt her, so that she trusted he would forebear her restraint a little longer.

Gradually, she glided one hand to grip his thigh, and settled one knee, and then the other, along the outside of his legs, straddling him. Khan stilled himself, anticipating her next moves. She lessened her suction, incrementally, before sliding him out of her mouth, noting the strain of his muscles as he worked to stay himself from thrusting back in. He let out a disappointed, strangled sound as Seraphina left off, even as she tongued his tip on last time, and kissed him there several times more.

Quickly now, she skimmed her body over his, brushing her breasts against him as she went, the tease of it pleasing herself as much as her dark lover. Khan opened his eyes as her face lingered over his. His pupils nearly filling his irises completely, she saw in them such vulnerable beauty that her own eyes prickled with tears—and he must've seen that for himself, for he smiled. A sad, beautiful smile, as he whispered her name, piercing her heart forever. Sera couldn't question how it was possible she felt so deeply for him, so soon; she only accepted it as truth, and lowered her mouth to his to keep herself from blurting out things best left unsaid.

She nested her hands in the enticing thickness of his hair, and met his passionate kisses eagerly, knowing that later she'd find her lips bruised and tender from the play of his lips and tongue and teeth upon them. No real or even imagined kisses had ever moved her so. Khan smoothed his hands from her shoulders and down her back, clasping her greedily to him; his erection throbbed against her, and Sera rubbed her slick center against it, with slow, purposeful strokes, the contact between them sparking her clitoris enough, so that she had to stop before she came too soon.

He dug his fingers into her hips, grunting hard when she ceased her strokes—and then reading her body's signals, he directed her, "Ride me." Gruffly, panting, unrepentant in his lust, "No more play, Seraphina…ride me hard…ride me now…"

Obediently—and because it was her will as well—she positioned herself above him; with one hand encircling his base, Sera breeched herself slowly, tightening her muscles around the head of his cock and holding him there while he groaned for more, and then finally relaxing enough to take him fully inside. The sweet, familiar burn of him filling and stretching her, made sweeter still as she set their pace for immeasurable minutes; Khan's responsive slow, deep thrusts a remarkable exertion in patience. She gripped his knees to brace herself, and leaned back, all her thought focused on their connection, while he grabbed her knees to steady her. The angle and the pressure of his extraordinary shaft inside her was something new to her, the compression on her nethers sinful and glorious, those sensations combining to be heavenly beyond words; he was cursing with the pleasure of it, and calling her the sweetest names. Physically, brilliantly, fucking her—but in the end it was the power of his passionate cries that pushed her past endurance.

Seraphina rocked forward just as she reached her peak, head thrown back and gripping his hips hard. "Cum in me," she called out, "Oh, my prince…cum in me now…please…oh please…" Enrapt in the intensity of her orgasm, he followed in moments, bucking hard beneath her; the blessed heat of his spurting seed painting her walls inside, and her muscles contracting around him divinely. Riding out the diminishing waves of their shared climax, they moaned their release together, as close to being one as any pair of lovers might become.

Panting, thirsting, and beautifully weakened, Sera leaned down to kiss his face and neck, the hormones of love coursing through her blood. Regretfully she lifted away from him, then moved to his side and laid her head against his shoulder, while he wrapped one arm around her, and smoothed a hand against the crown of her hair. Contented silence ruled the room, until she broke it with a wistful sigh.

"What, my sweet? What are you thinking?" His sounded sleepy and completely relaxed. Sera prayed that when he slept, any dreams he had would be peaceful ones.

She sighed again, inclining her head to lay her cheek against his chest, unconsciously matching her breathing to his. "I just…I just never want to leave this room."

She felt his rumble of laughter, so soothing against her skin, before he answered. "Only a powerful temptress could compel me to abandon my quest," he teased her, and then added more seriously, "And for you, I would, my sweet Seraphina. But I know you would never require it of me, with lives hanging in the balance."

Sera couldn't speak; it was truth almost too much to bear. To have given her very heart to him in their lovemaking—and feel he'd done the same—and to know their time was still finite. Far too much to bear. All she could manage was to nod her assent, squeezing her eyes tight against the helpless tears that wet his chest, finding what comfort she could in the warmth of his embrace.