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her head, triumph flitting across her face. “Oh dear, what a surprise,” she said mendaciously.
    “Shut up and help me clean up this mess,” St. Just hissed. “If Don Rodrigo finds her here…”
    “Why should I protect her ?” Mademoiselle Perez spat, neatly expressing her low opinion of Hélène.
    Voices were raised in the distance, muffled by the tall hedges.
    Saint-Gabriel moaned and nuzzled Mademoiselle Perez, clearly seeking more of what had been denied him. Blood dripped slowly from his throat.
    Hélène struggled desperately against St. Just. Mon Dieu , what was happening here? If she ran or screamed or fainted or…
    Monsieur Perez ran into the enclosed space, hand clapped to his sword, and cast an all-encompassing look around. Hélène shivered when his icy gaze rested on her.
    “Don Rodrigo,” Mademoiselle Perez whined.
    “Is Saint-Gabriel your creature?”
    “Of course, but—”
    “ Silencio , Sara. Say nothing more until we are alone.” Hélène did not blame her for flinching at his tone.
    “Saint-Gabriel.” The young soldier leaped to his feet, in response to an officer’s sharp summons, his lust-dulled eyes clearing a bit. “The only thing saving your life is your blood bond with Mademoiselle Perez. Pull up your breeches and leave, taking your clothes with you. Do not be seen or suspected by anyone until you are completely recovered. You will never discuss any aspect of this incident with anyone. Understand?”
    “Oui, monsieur.” Saint-Gabriel bowed, managing to look obedient and aristocratic despite his disheveled condition. He disappeared an instant later between two files of boxwood, clutching his clothes.
    St. Just’s hand still had not relaxed over Hélène’s mouth. Breathing was difficult, but not as much of an effort as believing any of these events.
    Monsieur Perez looked back at Mademoiselle Perez, his features harsher than if they’d been carved in stone.
    “If you had not guaranteed he would not be harmed by giving you his blood regularly, Sara, that boy would be dead now. You should not have used him as bait for this trap.”
    “Wh-what trap?” She came to her feet, straightening her clothes like a bourgeois matron. “I was only sitting here, feeding on a strong young man, as is my right since Jean-Marie denies me.”
    St. Just growled, deep and low. His body seemed to vibrate with rage.
    “Why here? Why not in your room, where you are guaranteed privacy?” Monsieur Perez stalked the woman. She took a step back and another and another until the obelisk blocked her.
    “No, you had to have him here, didn’t you?” St. Just accused her. “Knowing I’d be the first to find the labyrinth’s center, since I can’t resist a puzzle even when I have a beautiful woman on my arm. A lovely lady whom you hate and fear.”
    “What of it?” Her face twisted between fear and rage, and she glanced rapidly from one man to the other. “What of it? She is young, and you cannot stop looking at her, no matter how much blood I drink to become more vibrant. Why wouldn’t I want to make her stumble and fall?”
    “I will kill you for this,” St. Just snarled and moved toward her, his hand falling away from Hélène’s mouth.
    “You’re a vampire,” Hélène whispered. “A bloodsucking vampire.”
    “Damn you! Damn you, Sara!” Jean-Marie cursed. “Now you’ve signed her death warrant, since she’s admitted vampiros exist.”
    “ Madre de Dios , Sara, are you so jealous that you must destroy an innocent?” Monsieur Perez’s voice was etched in grief. “Do you not remember the agony of losing your own innocence?”
    “I saved your life many times when we were prisoners in The Syrian’s dungeon. How can I forget those days—unless you do?”
    Monsieur Perez flung up a hand in acknowledgment, his eyes suddenly decades older.
    Hélène squirmed, trying to duck out of St. Just’s hold and run for the château, while the others were arguing. His arms tightened