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her fingers into the meaty flesh. A steady stream of red gushed forth from the palpitating mass. The Heart throbbed and thrashed, restless with the desire of a captured creature to rip free.
    “I’m supposed to eat this?” A sneer of disgust contorted one side of her face. She asked even though she knew the answer: the successful completion of the transference ritual demanded that she consume the Heart.
    “It’s not so bad,” Cassio lied. The Immortal Watcher stood with a great gaping hole in his chest, face twisted in agony but expression intent. He was so close to achieving his goal at long last.
    “Go on, do it,” Cassio ordered in a harsh tone. “Let’s get this over with.”
    At his urging, Mariah reluctantly raised the Heart toward her mouth. The throbbing organ was inches from her lips when a hand snatched it away.
    “I’ll take that. Thank you,” the intruder announced, speaking with a distinctive French accent and the cultured affectation of a nobleman.
    The Frenchman removed the Heart from Mariah’s grasp so smoothly that she blinked at her empty hands in disbelief. She hadn’t even wanted immortality until she’d touched it, but having the Heart suddenly snatched away left her bereft, her soul crying out for the loss.
    “Guillaume! You bastard! How dare you!” Cassio exclaimed. The Immortal Watcher had been taken equally unaware as Mariah. Neither had heard the stealthy approach of intruders.
    “How dare I? Cassio, really, your thick headedness never fails to amaze me. What can I say? I’m a ballsy bastard, so dare I? Of course, I dare!” Apparently, the Immortal Watcher’s obtuseness also amused the Frenchman, because he laughed, a wicked and yet jovial expression of mirth.
    The burning pillar at the heart of the pentagram provided sufficient illumination for Mariah to make out the faces of their assailants. Two henchmen accompanied Guillaume, the Frenchman, but neither spoke. The pair wore heavy leather cloaks and carried swords. Both hung back, mere shadows to their charismatic leader.
    The Frenchman had striking, angelically beautiful features. Fine eyebrows and high cheekbones defined a narrow face, and his pale blue eyes held a cold, calculating intelligence. His shoulder-length golden blond hair was plastered to his skull because of the rain, but the waves alluded to a wealth of curls. Tailored clothing made from expensive linen, also thoroughly soaked, clung to his superbly muscled body beneath.
    Belatedly, Mariah recovered her senses. She lunged at the Frenchman, but rough hands seized her from behind. “Let go!” she cried as the man dragged her away from Guillaume.
    “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” her captor replied. While the Frenchman seethed arrogance and audacity, this man wielded an air of absolute authority.
    A chill swept over Mariah at the sound of the terribly familiar voice. His accent was foreign, a sweet, melodic lilt that lodged in her ear like a warm tickle. She did not recognize his voice, and yet she was overcome with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. She knew him. But how? Certainly, they’d never...
    “This intrusion is unacceptable. The audacity is monumental, even for you, Guillaume. I don’t know what the hell you think you’re up to,” Cassio snarled. A halo of fire flickered about his form. Towering with rage, the Immortal Watcher strode toward the blond Frenchman.
    The sight of Cassio striding about with a huge hole in his chest unnerved her. How easily and ludicrous to listen to him reproach the man who held his beating heart. Guillaume’s trim figure cut an equally ridiculous image. The blond man clutched that beating heart to his chest like a peasant in possession of some great treasure. Unwittingly, she allowed a high, nervous laugh to escape from her throat.
    “Oh, spare me the pompous bombast! You abuse my ear, Cassius! As for my intent, I should think it obvious.” Guillaume stood his ground, refusing to retreat before Cassio, and held