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and seethed just below the surface but where she could not possibly see it.
    His natural instinct was to heal her, using the curative agent in his saliva, but he refrained, not wanting to alarm her further. There would be time enough when he got her home and could put her to sleep.
    Tempest was aware that Darius could see her, even in the dark. Curiously, she was no longer afraid of him. She stared at the toes of her dirty running shoes, uncertain what to do. She was sick and dizzy, she hurt everywhere, and she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. She had no money, nowhere to go.
    Darius reached out, ignored the way she flinched from his hand, and wrapped his long fingers possessively around the nape of her neck. "I am going to take you home. You can soak in the tub, I will fix you something to eat, and no one will see you but me. Since I have already seen you, it is all right." His tone seemed to request agreement, but she heard command in his voice. "We have to call the police," she said softly. "I can't let him get away with this."
    "He will not commit such an atrocity again, Tempest," he murmured softly. He could hear the engine of a car speeding toward them, and he identified it as their own. "Has my sister introduced you to any of the other band members yet?" he inquired, deliberately distracting her so that she wouldn't ask any questions.
    Tempest sat down right where she was, on the side of the road in the pouring rain. Furious at himself for acceding to her demand to stand when he knew she was too weak, Darius ignored her protest and swung her back into his arms as if she were a child. For once, she didn't protest, didn't say anything. She turned her face into the warmth of his chest, burrowed close to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, and lay passively in the safety of his arms, shivering from shock and the cold rain.
    Barack had made the drive in record time. He liked the speed of modern cars and took every opportunity to hone his racing skills. He stopped exactly in front of Darius, his face, through the windshield, a mask of darkness. The youngest of the men, he had retained remnants of the easygoing boy they had all been so fond of until Syndil was attacked and they began to trust no one, not even themselves.
    Darius pulled open the car door and slid in, never relinquishing his hold on Tempest. Her eyes were closed, and she didn't look up, didn't acknowledge the vehicle. It worried him. She is in shock, Barack. Thank you far getting here so quickly. I knew I could count on you. Get us home with the same speed. Darius spoke to his friend on their mental pathway rather than aloud.
    Shall I wait for Dayan? Barack inquired, using the same mental path that was familiar to all five of his people.
    Darius shook his head. Dayan would make better time flying, even in the storm. As would he, if he were willing to frighten Tempest to death by whisking her through the air. He was not. Indeed, he knew that his unfamiliar emotions were feeding the intensity of the storm he had created.
    Tempest didn't speak on the long drive back to the campsite, but Darius was aware that she was awake. Not once did she doze off. Still, her hold on her self-control was tenuous at best, so he stayed quiet to avoid saying or doing the wrong thing, anything that might make her want to run away again. He couldn't let her go. The attack had only proved to him how much she needed him, too, and the last thing he wanted to do was create a situation where she feared him or challenged his authority.
    Julian Savage was lounging lazily against the motor home as they drove up. He straightened with his casual strength, a ripple of muscles that revealed his power, as Darius slid from the seat of the car, the small, red-haired woman held unbelievably protectively in his arms.
    "I know something of the healing arts," Julian offered softly, although he strongly suspected that Darius would refuse his help. The man's hold on the woman was fiercely