The blast sent the ominous visitor sliding back down the roof of the railcar. He walked through shredded tendrils of garment—the substance of which was not made of cloth but particles of matter in constant motion.

The strange golem whirred and clicked as it reassembled itself. This being was no messenger; it was some kind of scout. No doubt this creature had been sent by Prospero to test their strength. Exeter’s pulse quickened. He had a good idea who the technology wizard was interested in, and he wasn’t going to get her.

“I am Exeter.” He peered directly into the beams of light. “And who are you?”

He silently gathered energy into his celiac ganglia and waited. For a moment, the luminous eyes drew him in. He made out a nose, mouth, and chin—even a hint of ear as the creature turned to face him. “Miss Jones.” On several occasions, Exeter had heard the demonstrations of the phonograph—the voices tinged with metal and a crackling hiss—like now.

“I’m afraid Miss Jones was unable to travel. Her pregnancy is nearly full term. I wouldn’t allow—”

The blast hit his solar plexus region and knocked the breath from his diaphragm. Exeter crawled to his knees, gasping for air. Before he could stand, he took a second hit—a blow to his side, which rolled him far down the roof of the passenger car. Finally, air rushed back into his lungs and he rapidly gained enough strength to stagger to his feet. He turned around to face . . . three of the creatures, all identical in shape and size.

“Reinforcements? Rather flattering, wouldn’t you say?” When in doubt, use bravado. A valuable lesson he’d learned from Phaeton. Exeter shot a bolt of powerful energy at the trio and leapt into the air, over the trio of wraiths. He landed several feet behind them.

His attackers turned in unison. He was also aware of yet another presence—something moved behind him. It would appear he was surrounded. Exeter hurled a ball of potent energy at the hooded trio and readied to make another jump. A black shadow emerged from between railcars and leapt past his shoulder.

It was the panther. It was Mia.

Stunned, he watched the cat knock the creature over and rip off the cloak. Claws and fangs slashed into the downed wraith. Exeter let loose a blast of potent force, sending the others sliding across the narrow roofline. He leaned over the cat as she tore off the wraith’s hood, exposing a metal skull and skeletal body. I’ll bring them down—you take them out.

In answer, the cat raised her head and hissed.

An orb of violet-colored particles swirled larger and larger in his hand. Exeter opened his palm and fired the ball at one of the wraiths trying to crawl away. Mia sprang from one kill to the next, using her teeth and claws to rip off bony limbs, scattering them across the roof.

“Save one for us.” Jersey and Valentine landed on the roof with a thud. Daggers drawn, the mechanized knives unfolded into long swords, crackling with powerful aether.

Exeter nodded toward a wraith staggering upright at the end of the carriage. “You can have him.” While the Nightshades sliced and diced, he and Mia finished off the other.

The fray was over as quickly and unexpectedly as it had begun. Nothing but the wind and chug of the train through the darkness—and the clink of disintegrating body parts. Even after the wraiths had been chopped to bits, they continued to shiver and slither about the roof. He picked up a disembodied arm and tossed it over the side. Easing back onto his haunches, he watched Mia chew on a glowing green eye until the light faded. Tentatively, he reached out for the lens mechanism and her lip curled. Risking his fingers, he opened his palm. Long, ivory fangs glistened in the dark. She dropped the dead orb into his hand. Exeter smiled. “Come, pussy.”

The sleek panther rose, lifted a paw, then hesitated. Jersey and Valentine edged closer, swords drawn. He signaled the Nightshades to stand down. She crouched, before the pounce. Gleaming black fur gave way to pale flesh as the shift happened in midair. A black cat leapt and a beautiful young woman landed in his arms.

He cradled the trembling girl in his lap. She was in a cold sweat, and her teeth chattered. She opened glazed eyes that held his. “We got them, di-didn’t we?”

Against his orders she had come after him. He should be furious with her. Exeter took in the ethereal beauty of her pale face—so innocent, so fearless. “That we did, Mia.”

Had she shifted at will? Or had the cat escaped? He had experienced every mewling whimper of her climax—he was sure the cat had been tempered. Exeter lifted her in his arms. Was this unprovable therapy working or not? He was inclined to hope so—for Mia’s sake.

“Over here.” Jersey stood at a juncture between railcars. Exeter hugged her tight, and followed the Nightshades’ lead, descending to the coupler bridge. The bodyguards cleared the aisle in the sleeping car, stopping at their compartment door. “Bollocks, the key is inside,” Exeter grumbled.

“As our rotund Australian friend would say—no worries.” Jersey fired up the tip of his blade and ran it down the seam in the door.

“And as Mr. Ping would say—‘Open, O’sesame.’ ” Exeter gave it a kick and stepped into their compartment.

He turned back briefly. “Where’s America?”

“We’ve got her locked away somewhere safe, and she’s not happy about it.” Jersey grinned.

“Seal us in.” Exeter shut the door and closed the window. Working methodically and quickly, he lay Mia on the narrow sleeper bed and covered her in blankets, adding an extra coverlet from the berth above. A bit of color returned to her cheeks, but she continued to shiver uncontrollably. What she needed was a warm bath.

His fingers flew through the buttons of his waistcoat. He removed his waistcoat and pulled his shirt off over his head. She needed heat, something that would penetrate the surface level and warm the deeper muscles and tissues. He shrugged out of his suspenders and removed his trousers and drawers. Lifting the sheets, he climbed into the berth and took her in his arms. “Wrap yourself around me—tightly.” He melded his body to hers and waited. Gradually, the shaking muscles quieted, and her supple body clung to him. He ran his fingers through a tangle of soft brown hair—sweeping the waves off her face. “There, Mia.”

Her eyes barely opened, but she smiled softly. “I’m so tired.”

“You often go right to sleep when you come back.”

“Mmm.” A sweet breath wafted over his shoulder. Her hand lay against his upper body and her fingers softly brushed his chest hair.

One extremity at a time, Exeter rubbed down every part of her body, while she drifted in and out of sleep. Though he had no watch, he pressed his lips against her jugular vein. Her pulse had gone from scarcely perceptible to strong and steady.

Gently, he rolled her onto her other side, so he might spoon against her. She awoke long enough to whisper. “Don’t leave me.” She reached back for his hand, which he took in his and pulled her close.

“I’m here.” He nuzzled the nape of her neck. There wasn’t a place on her body that didn’t arouse him. Her skin was as soft—as he was hard. She was so strokable. And he was so in need of stroking. Exeter was sure he’d never get to sleep, not with that velvety bum rubbing up against a blistering erection. And then again . . . he closed his eyes and slept.


A warm, gentle breeze brushed her cheek. Exeter’s breath. His arm was around her and she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts. Mia lowered her eyes. Exeter was lying beside her fast asleep, and he was—she took a sneaky look further down—wearing nothing but his God suit.

She explored slowly, taking in the smallest detail—from the mole on his shoulder to the light covering of fuzz on his upper torso. She ran her fingertips through his chest hair and lower, across the pale golden skin of his abdomen. Exeter had always been handsome of countenance and stature, but his body was also lovely. Wickedly so.

Her gaze traveled over an exposed hip and a fascinating curve of muscle that disappeared under the bed sheet. Mia had studied Greek sculpture and architecture extensively, including the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian columns . . .

Her gaze returned to his sleek, muscled groin and she wondered, dare she?

She stole a furtive glance at his face. Exeter appeared years younger in his sleep, unencumbered by all the worries and responsibilities he took so seriously. She lifted the covers slowly, enough to view . . . an impressive phallus at rest.

“It is called nocturnal penile tumescence. The spontaneous occurrence of an erection of the penis during sleep.”

He was awake.

Caught in the act of peeking, Mia dropped the sheet. Her cheeks flamed with heat, still she was filled with curiosity and more than a little trepidation. Her need to know, however, trumped any fear. “This is normal for men—this size and stiffness?”

She dared to meet his gaze and wasn’t exactly sure how to read his expression. Something between sleepy arousal and amusement. “Fully erect, a man’s penis varies in size. Some are larger than others—all of them get the job done.”

She folded back the sheet. “I see.” Her gaze traveled up his torso. “You are handsomely made, Doctor Exeter.”

“As are you, Miss Chadwick.” He cupped her buttocks and brought her pelvis against him. How easily this man thrilled her. Even now her body tingled from the feel of his hard penis pressing against her belly.

He had mentioned his discomfort last night, which had set her wondering about his pleasure. About exactly what happened when a man climaxed. She understood the mechanics of procreation—but this was different. No one had ever mentioned the part about pleasure—except Exeter.

She placed her hands on his chest. “May I touch you here?”

Exeter nodded.

Her fingertips moved down his torso. “Here?”

Exeter’s eyes narrowed. “Mia.”

She nuzzled the dark stubble of beard on his chin. “May I please touch you . . . ?” She moved lower and he caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

He brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “I’m not sure that should happen right now.”

A sharp rap preceded the sound of Jersey’s sword reopening the door latch. Exeter leapt out of bed and grabbed his trousers from the floor. Propped on her elbows, Mia nearly gasped. He shoved a long limb into a pant leg and covered a nicely muscled buttock cheek. Even as he hopped into his trousers he aroused her.

A pale pink glow suffused the room. “It’s dawn,” she mused aloud. Exeter dipped to peer out the window as he buttoned his pants. “We should be in Paris.”

Jersey stuck his head in the door before he entered the room. “A drawbridge went out last night—the train was held up for nearly two hours.”

Exeter opened his valise and pulled out a fresh shirt. “When do we arrive?”

“We’re on the outskirts of the city—no more than twenty minutes.” Ever the vigilant bodyguard, Jersey stole a quick glance around the room. “They’re serving pastries and coffee in the dining car—join us.”

Chapter Ten

“OH, MY”—Mia poked her head out of the carriage—“this is lovely.” L’Hôtel Claude exuded an Old World charm with its gated yard and striking dark blue awning over the door. Topiary trees planted in carved stone containers made charming sentries to each side of the hotel’s entrance.

Everything about their temporary residence was elegant and understated—very much like the man who handed her down from the carriage. She took note of the quiet courtyard’s neatly trimmed, ivy-covered stone walls and tall iron gates. It was also a fortress.

Exeter checked in and distributed room keys. “We’ve got two connecting suites on the sixth floor with four sleeping chambers. If we require more rooms, the hotel assures me they will make every effort to accommodate us.”

During the trudge upstairs, Jersey calmly laid down a few security rules. “I’d like to request that no one leave the hotel alone and never without either Valentine or myself as an escort. Report any strange occurrence, no matter how insignificant. And I must ask everyone to leave their rooms unlocked, in case Valentine or I have to get to you quickly.”

On the sixth floor, before Exeter could turn his key, the door to room 19 opened. “Bon jour, mon amis.” Mr. Ping bowed politely and ushered them inside the suite. “The rooms are perfectly situated, Doctor Exeter.” Ping swept back the pale under curtain behind a swag of sumptuous drapery and opened French doors. “Come, have a look.”