Blood Pact

her cheek. "Michael Celluci has the day; I cannot share it with him. Don't ask me to give him the night as well.”

    Vicki swallowed. His touch drew heated lines across her skin. "Have I ever asked that of you?”

    "No." His expression twisted and slid a little into sadness. "You've never asked anything of me.”

    She wanted to protest that she had, but she knew what he meant. "Not now, Henry.”

    "You're right." He nodded and withdrew his hand. "Not now.”

    Fortunately, the closet had plenty of room for a not so tall man to lie safely hidden away from the sun.

    "I'll block the door from the inside, so it can't be opened accidentally, and I brought the blackout curtain you hung in my bedroom to wrap around me. I'll be back with you this evening.”

    With memory's eyes she could see him, rising with the darkness after a day spent . . . lifeless.

    "Henry.”

    He paused, half through the door.

    "My mother is dead.”

    "Yes.”

    "You'll never die.”

    The four-hundred-and-fifty-year-old bastard son of Henry the VIII nodded. "I'll never die," he agreed.

    "Should I resent you for that?”

    "Should I resent you for the day?”

    Her brows snapped down and the movement pushed her glasses forward on her nose. "I hate it when you answer a question with a question.”

    "I know.”

    His smile held so many things that she couldn't hope to understand them all before the closet door closed between them.

    "Vicki, you can't possibly agree with what Fitzroy did!" When she suddenly became engrossed in sponging a bit of dirt off her good shoes, he realized she did, indeed, agree. "Vicki!”

    "What?”

    "He knocked me out, put me to sleep, violated my free will!”

    "He just wanted the same time alone that you're getting now. Guaranteed free of interruption.”

    "I can't believe you're defending him!”

    "I'm not. Exactly. I just understand his reasons.”

    Celluci snorted and jammed his arms into the sleeves of his suit jacket. A few stitches popped in protest.

    "And what did the two of you do during that time alone free of interruption?”

    "He put me to sleep as well. Then sat and watched over me until dawn.”

    "That's it?”

    Vicki turned to face him, both brows well above the upper edge of her glasses. "That's it. Not that it's any of your damned business.”

    "That won't wash this time, Vicki." He stepped forward, took the shoe from her hand, and dropped to one knee with it. "Fitzroy made it my business when he pulled that Prince of Darkness shit.”

    She sighed and let him guide her foot into the plain black pump. "Yeah, I suppose he did. I needed to sleep, Mike." She reached down and brushed the long curl of hair back off his face. "I couldn't have done it without him. He gave me the night to sleep when he could have taken it for himself.”

    "Very noble of him," Celluci grunted, sliding her other foot into the second shoe. And it was very noble, he admitted to himself as he stood. Noble in the running roughshod I know best so don't bother expressing an opinion sort of a way that went out with the fucking feudal system. Still, Fitzroy had acted in what he considered to be Vicki's best interests. And he honestly didn't think that he could have left them alone together, as Fitzroy had no choice but to do come morning. So I suppose I might have done the same thing under similar circumstances. Which doesn't excuse his royal fucking undead highness one bit.

    What bothered him the most about it was how little Vicki seemed to care, how much she seemed to be operating on cruise control, and how little she seemed to be interacting with the world around her. He recognized the effects of grief and shock, he'd seen them both often enough over the years, but they were somehow harder to deal with because they were applied here and now to Vicki.

    He wanted to make it better for her.

    He knew he couldn't.

    He hated having to accept that.

    All right, Fitzroy, you gave her sleep last night, I'll give her support today. Maybe together we can get her through it.

    He got her to eat but eventually, when even trying to start an argument failed, he gave up trying to get her to talk.

    About noon, Mr. Delgado arrived to ask if Vicki needed a lift to the funeral home. She looked up from where she sat, silently rocking, and shook her head.

    "Humph," he snorted, stepping back out into the hall and once again looking Celluci over. "You one of her friends from the police?”

    "Detective-Sergeant Michael