Blood Debt

boundaries.
    By appearing to him, the ghost had made him responsible for the deaths it caused. Created Duke of Richmond and Somerset at six, Henry had been raised to take his responsibilities very seriously.

    Celluci stepped out of the shower, into the towel Vicki held up for him, and sighed contentedly. "I needed that."
    "I know." She flicked a drop of water up into his face. "You were beginning to get a little ripe."
    "I thought you liked the way I smelled."
    "You like the smell of leather, but you don't walk around with a cowhide up your nose." A fingertip traced damp circles in the hair around his navel as, eyes half closed, Vicki drew in a deep breath.
    "Trust me. You smell a lot more appetizing now."
    He tried to catch her hand, but she easily avoided his grab. "Vicki, I really need a good night's sleep in a bed that isn't moving."
    "So you want me to stop?"
    He gasped as she widened the circle. "I didn't say that." A moment later, out in the hall, he dug in his heels and murmured, "Not in Fitzroy's bed." A moment after that, as Tony's bed rocked under their combined weight, he wrapped a hand around her jaw and moved her head away from his body. "If you bite it off," he growled, "you won't get to play with it any more."
    Tony had the master bedroom and in the lights spilling in through the wall of glass that separated them from the city, Vicki could see as clearly as if the lights in the room were on. She slid out from under Celluci's arm and sat up, moving the pillows so that she could lean comfortably against the wall. "It's strange being here."
    Celluci's "Why?" was a nearly inarticulate murmur as he rolled onto his side.
    "Because I fought for the territory and lost, but Henry's the one who left." Drawing up her knees, she wrapped her arms around her lower legs and frowned out at the night. "I don't want this territory, but I feel like I've won it. Except that I didn't. Henry won. But I'm here. Is this making any sense?" She didn't bother waiting for a reply.
    "It feels like there's something missing, but I don't know what. It feels wrong, but I don't know what it needs to make it feel right. Oh, God."
    She let her head drop onto her knees. "I'm writing country music again. I hate it when that happens."
    His breath warm against the skin of her hip, Celluci muttered something that might have been sarcastic.
    "Mike?" She reached out to shake him, paused, hand in the air, and changed her mind. He needs to sleep. I'll just get dressed and take a quick look at what Vancouver has to offer.
    But she didn't.
    Fingers lightly stroking his hair, she wrapped up in the familiar comfort of his life and let the night go by without her in it.

    "We have another match."
    "So soon?" He frowned at the papers spread out over his desk, at the manicured symmetry of his fingernails, at the phone. He enjoyed working late, having the office to himself; usually, it meant he remained undisturbed. "Isn't that dangerous?"
    "Dangerous? In what way?"
    "In that it might lead to discovery."
    "I've told you before, the timing is totally random. I have no control over when the matches occur. Either it happens, or it does not." The voice emerging from the tiny speaker managed to sound totally neutral about either option. "But if that new list you sent me is accurate…"
    "It should be. I paid enough for it."
    "… then I have a young man on file who fits one of your prospects."
    Drumming his fingers against the polished mahogany, he weighed the options. "And you think he'll accept?"
    "When approached the right way, they always accept."
    "Yes, of course." He cut her off before she could say any more. He didn't want to know about the donors; they weren't his concern. "Very well, make him the offer. When he accepts, let me know immediately so I can begin negotiations with the buyer."

    By the time dawn made its presence felt, Henry's car had been carefully locked away in the shed and all signs of his habitation had been erased from the exterior of the cabin. It was unlikely the day would bring company, but surviving for over four hundred and fifty years had taught caution first of all. Should anyone happen to wander down the narrow dirt track, the cabin would appear deserted. In Henry's opinion, he had less to fear from vandals than from neighbors; vandals seldom wandered so far from the beaten path.
    With decks cantilevered out over the edge of a cliff, the cabin managed to be both isolated and directly above a food supply. While the friend