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shouldn’t be there because he hadn’t used anything sharp on her.
    Agony lashed her. Instead, she curled into his chest and released everything except coping with the present.

Chapter Three
    Jay had to block, take some of Lucille’s agony on himself. He’d rarely come across such a violent reaction, although he recognized the typical vampire allergy to silver as soon as it had started in her. Touching the substance didn’t bother him at all, but he took care never to wear it when he was around others of his kind. As far as he knew, he’d done that tonight.
    Oh, shit, no.
    The rash was transforming into wounds as her sensitive skin split under the swelling distorting the area his neckcloth had touched. The marks were still forming on her arms, scattering over her body, wheals that broke open as fast as they formed, blood seeping, then pouring.
    The neckcloth . This reaction had to have something to do with that. Now he regretted not picking it up, or ordering someone to do it before he’d left the room, but all his attention had been on Lucille and the urgency to care for her.
    He had to cut his mind away from her while he pushed his concerns down too deep for her to detect. Getting in telepathic contact with his assistant, he double-checked that the fugitives were safe and on their way. Then he ordered him to have security retrieve the strip of cloth if they could find it.
    Blue, it had to be Blue who’d sabotaged the neckcloth, but Jay had no time to cope with that bastard now. She could die from this.
    Wincing, she raised a hand and grazed his face. The scent of fresh blood wreathed around them. “I’ll recover. I know it looks bad.” She coughed, and a thread of scarlet trickled from the corner of her mouth.
    Panic gripped him. “Let me take care of you. I hurt you more than I meant to.”
    “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “Was it?” Already her voice sounded faint, drifting.
    Mutely, he shook his head, but guilt sank his stomach. His neckcloth had done this to her because he’d touched her wrists with nothing else. Silver could be reduced to a powder, used in starch or shaken over fabric to contaminate it.
    He shouldered open a door and strode outside into the fresh air. He could have traveled indoors, but he’d have had to walk through the party with Lucille in his arms, then taking the long route to his rooms. This way he could run up the set of stairs by the kitchen and get there faster.
    He’d been careless, failed to check everything. He never made mistakes—never—but his anxiety to see this woman at his party had made him negligent.
    He got to his suite, unlocked it, and barged inside, holding the now silent Lucille as carefully as he could. He brushed her mind. She was dazed, close to unconsciousness. That mustn’t happen. She could slip into a coma. Truth was, he wasn’t sure, had never seen an allergy as violent as this one.
    First, wash off the contamination.
    He took her in the shower, turned the deluge head to the softest spray possible, but with a wide spread so it encompassed all of her. Gently, he put her on her feet, stripping the rest of her clothing as fast as he could, afraid her clothes would stick to her body with the blood.
    When she showed signs of coming around from her stupor, he let her stand on her own. He held her wrists under the water, anxious to rinse off the worst area of taint. She had to flush out the poison, and she’d need strength to do it. Only one way he could think of giving it to her.
    She didn’t speak. Her eyes were dreamy, her thoughts drifting. He kept his mind firmly in hers as deep as she’d let him. He needed the connection now, to keep her with him while he dealt with her crisis.
    Blood poured in a stream, solid at first and then feathering in the water pooling at their feet. By the time he got her naked, the rash had subsided, the flow lessened, and finally he could breathe more freely. He’d got her here in time before her body absorbed