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before she scanned the faces of the visiting Kyn. Collectively they should have resembled a mob of male models waiting for a photo shoot, but centuries of training and working as warriors and guards had developed their musculature to brutal perfection.
    “Suzerain Lucan, I am Vander, appointed by Seigneur Cyprien as leader of these men.” A man who vaguely resembled a punk-rock bull stepped forward and bent forward, bowing so low his bristle-brush hair nearly touched the floor. “My brothers do not speak English, so they wish me to thank you for granting us an audience. If I may, I will make known to you the names of my companions.”
    Lucan took his time silently assessing the group before he finally inclined his head, and Vander began the formal introductions.
    Burke left Lucan to join Sam. “My lady, Lord Durand awaits in the next room, if you have a moment to greet him.”
    “Yeah, I do.” Sam’s mobile beeped, and she unclipped it from her belt and checked the screen, which displayed a homicide call from dispatch. “No, I don’t.”
    She debated whether to tell Lucan, but her lover was in the process of admiring a neck chain with a glittering gold medallion hanging from it. Visiting Kyn always brought expensive gifts as tribute, which Sam considered unnecessary and even a little silly. Lucan, on the other hand, had been universally despised by his kind before he’d become a suzerain. While he always pretended not to care about the show of respect, Sam knew it gave him a lot of satisfaction.
    As her phone beeped again, Sam made a face at Burke. “I’ll say hi before I go, but would you mind asking Chris to keep Jamie company until I get back? Last time he was here, they became pretty good friends.”
    Burke nodded. “I’m sure Miss Christian will be happy to look after Lord Durand.”
    The
tresora
escorted Sam to one of the smaller meeting rooms, where the scent of warm sandalwood colored the air. It came from Jamys Durand, who was standing at the window and looking down at the sea.
    “It’s still not too cold if you want to go for a swim,” Sam said.
    “No bathing costume.” Jamys smiled as he came to bow before her.
    “Oh, cut that out.” Sam pulled him up into a hug before she drew back and took his hands in hers. “You’ve been working out, kiddo.” She patted some of the new muscle bulging under his sleeve. “And I’d love to catch up, but some idiot killed someone downtown and I got stuck with the call. I’m sorry, but would you mind hanging out with my girl Chris until Lucan frees up? You remember Chris, right?”
    “Yes.” Jamys’s dark brown eyes gleamed. “I remember.”
    “Excellent. Thanks. I’ll see you later.” She kissed his cheek. To Burke, she said, “Call if you need me.” She hurried out to the elevator.
    * * *
    Chris made herself walk, not run, through the club to Burke’s office. For three years she’d immersed herself in learning how to be the perfect
tresora
. Burke had taught her everything about protocol, from how to properly greet a visiting lord (with extreme politeness and deference) to getting rid of unwanted human groupies (with a little eucalyptus-based ointment under the nostrils and a quick trip into the outside air). Lucan’s men had helped teach her the defense tactics every
tresora
was expected to know, and she had practiced with every weapon she could handle in the armory until she could use it with complete ease and deadly accuracy. She’d even learned how to tolerate blood loss on a regular basis, just in case one of the Kyn needed to use her in an emergency.
    From the beginning Burke had warned her that hard work might not be enough. “Being a
tresora
is more than a position of trust and employment. It is a bloodline obligation, handed down to each generation of a
tresoran
family. I am the thirty-eighth Burke to serve the Darkyn.”
    “Back in the Dark Ages, they had to go out on a limb and trust the first Burke, right?” When he’d