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where she was tucking a footstool under her husband’s feet. One delicate eyebrow arched in question.
    “What’s up, luv?” Blade asked, catching the look.
    “I asked Will if he’d consent to having some of his blood examined.”
    “You don’t ’ave to,” Blade hastened to assure him.
    That was the thing he hated the most now. The hesitant way they spoke around him, as if fearing he’d walk out the door and never come back.
    Folding his arms over his chest, he glared at Blade. As if he’d ever abandon him. Without Blade he’d probably still be trapped in a cage, reduced to little more than an animal.
    A hot little coal flared to life inside him. If only he hadn’t bloody been there that night. If only he hadn’t heard Honoria ask if he was dangerous, if he could be trusted around Lena…
    And then the hesitation.
    He’d never doubted himself before. Never doubted his control. Years in the cage had taught him to leash the anger, the beast within. He choked it down, trapped it in solid iron bars—a manifestation of the cage he’d spent ten years in. Nobody could reach in there.
    Until Lena came along.
    She’d driven him near insane. It was nothing but a game to her, a flirtation, a tease. A way to test her burgeoning womanhood on someone she thought was safe. But he wasn’t safe. And he didn’t play games. After two years of living with it, the edges of the cage had started to grow ragged. If Blade had noticed the restless prowl of the beast within him, if Honoria had… Then how close had he been to losing control?
    How long had they watched him? Not trusted him?
    “Will?” Honoria asked.
    “Do it,” he snapped, somewhat harsher than he’d intended. “But hurry up. I’ve got things to do today.”

Three
    “Be brave, Will,” Blade called. “Ain’t naught to it. Just a little prick, much like your own. You don’t ’ear the lasses down on Petticoat Lane complainin’, do you?”
    Will swore at him and stared ferociously at the wall as Honoria slid the needle in. The silver began burning immediately. Cold iron healed in seconds, but silver kept the wound open long enough for her to take her sample. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and a chill ran down his face. Bile churned in his stomach.
    “There we go. Nearly done,” Honoria crooned, patting his shoulder. “It’s a nice red sample, Will. I’d grown used to Blade’s blue blood.”
    The sound of light footsteps in the hall caught his ear. His head swam as he turned his face that way, cold spiraling through him. A warm, floral scent curled through his nose. Honeysuckle. Oh no. Not her. Not now … Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard Blade asking if he was all right. As the room buzzed, he glanced toward the needle and the vial thick with his blood.
    A mistake.
    The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back on the floor and shoving at the vile smelling salts someone waved under his nose. His fingers grazed a lady’s breast, and his eyes shot open as Lena tumbled backward, the smelling salts spilling everywhere.
    Months since he’d seen her. Months where the image of her had faded until the memory was almost a blur. Now here she was, as vibrant and beautiful as ever, her dashing red skirts spilled across the floor like a pool of blood. The hunger in him, the raging warmth, bubbled up, flooding through his vision until he knew his eyes were wolf-gold. Vision sharpened, picking out every single strand of hair that tumbled over her shoulders, the dew on her lips, the light reflecting off the bleached tips of her lashes.
    Mine , something inside him snarled. For a moment the world blurred and when he wrenched back his control, his hand was half lifted toward her.
    “What the hell are you doin’ here?” he snapped, still disorientated. Cold sweat ringed his neckline.
    Blade caught his hand. “Easy there.” The words were light, but Will knew them for the warning they were.
    Control it . Rein it in .
    The effort left him