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don't care if he was a secret agent and saved the world. He can't just come back here and
decide he wants you again."
Gabrielhad saved the world, probably more than once. And with a powerful vampire loose in
the city, he would once again protect humans at great risk to his own life. He had given up his
chance at happiness, had given up family, emotions and colors. He had done more than risk his
life, he had risked his very soul to keep mortals and immortals alike safe. He had no real
existence; even his own kind feared his power. He was completely alone.Gabriel. Her heart
ached for him as much as her mind rebelled against his hold over her.
"Gabriel is different, Brice. I can't explain him to you. I've had a difficult evening and I'm
asking you to drop the subject for a while. I can't give you the answer you want to hear and if
you push me, I would have to say no, there's no hope for us and just forget it." She rubbed at
her throbbing temples. "What about this patient of yours? Do you want help or not?"
Brice shook his head, trying to hide his frustration. "All right, Francesca, have it your way.
We'll shelve it for now, but I wish you'd throw him out or take him to one of those shelters
you're always funding. One of them ought to have a bed for him."
Francesca knew very well Gabriel was probably quite wealthy. No matter how long he had
been sleeping beneath the earth, he would have a stash of gold or something of equal value to
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sustain him. Those in his line would keep his properties intact for him. If he had none, all
Carpathians would contribute significant amounts to ease his way back into society. It was their
way to aid one another at all times when there was need. In Carpathian society, wealth meant
nothing. It was to be shared as a means of continuing their kind, of keeping them a secret.
Gabriel had not yet had time to collect what was rightfully his, but he would. In any case,
Francesca could do no other than live by the code of her people and share what was hers with
him.
"I have asked him to find his own place as soon as he gets his bearings, but I will not force him
to leave my home. Now tell me about your patient or I'm leaving." She meant it too. If Brice
pushed her any harder she was just going to walk away and not come back for a very long time.
He recognized the finality in her voice. "She's fourteen years old, and looks as if she's been in
a train wreck. X rays show a multitude of broken bones, some set by physicians and some
knitted crookedly on their own. She's practically comatose. She looks at me, but won't say a
word. I can't even tell whether she actually hears me. She's in bad shape. She has some
wicked-looking scars on her back and some particularly bad ones on her hands and arms as if
she fought back many times. She looks as if she's been battered repeatedly. Her father
brought her in, a brute of a man, nasty, doesn't say much. No other relatives. Cops say he's a
career criminal but no history of child abuse. We can't prove the father's a sadistic abuser
without the child's account, and she can't talk to us. He wants to take her home, says she's
retarded, but I don't think so."
Francesca felt her heart turn over. She hated this kind of thing, had fought for centuries to
establish safe havens for women and children, yet there were never enough. Fourteen years
old. Why would a father torture and abuse his own child while her species fought so hard to
preserve their children? Carpathian males always protected women and children above their
own lives. It just didn't make any sense and her heart bled for the poor teenager with no one to
protect her from the very person who should have loved her the most. "Was there sexual
abuse?"
Brice nodded. "Absolutely there was. This child has been so abused it's sickening."
"You have need of my aid, honey?"Gabriel's beautiful voice brushed gently at the walls of her
mind.
"Show her to me, Brice," she instructed softly."A child has been abused. I am going to see her
now. Brice said they suspect the father." Without really thinking about it, she sent him all of the
information Brice had given to her."I will be fine."
"I expect you to call should there be need."Along with the soft command she was immediately
flooded with warmth and comfort, strong arms to anchor her as she faced another emotional
battering.
Chapter Four
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Brice pushed open the door to the young woman's room and stepped back to allow Francesca
entry. Fortunately the girl's father was not present. The man was a bully and Brice was afraid
of him. He crossed the room, smiling gently at the young woman huddled on the bed. She hadn't
looked up or indicated in any way that she noticed their entry.
"Skyler, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. I know you can hear me, Skyler. This is
Francesca. She's an extraordinary woman. You don't have to be afraid of her."
Francesca watched Brice, noticed how gentle his movements has become around the teenager.
That was one of the things that drew her to Brice. The way he was with children, with those who
were hurt and wounded. He cared. It couldn't have anything to do with money, she was certain
of that. Brice really wanted to make things right, wanted to help these little lost souls. Her
heart warmed and she smiled at him as she glided forward to seat herself in the chair Brice had
placed right beside the bed.
"Hello, Skyler. Your doctor has asked me to come and visit you. I thought we'd ask him to
leave so we can be alone together. Just the two of us." She nodded at Brice.
He bent close, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel the warmth of his breath. "I'm
going to keep an eye out for her father. If he catches you in here, there's no telling what he
might do."
"You think he'll become violent?" Francesca whispered the question, not wanting the child to
hear her. The last thing the girl needed was an ugly scene involving her father. "Are you
expecting him?"
"Not anytime soon. He usually spends this time of night drinking," Brice assured her. With a
reassuring wink at the unresponsive teenager he left the room.
Francesca observed the child closely. The girl was lying in the fetal position, her hair hanging
in ragged lengths as though someone had chopped it off indiscriminately. There was a
crescent-shaped scar on her temple, white and thin. There were bruises all over her face. Her
eyes were swollen and her jaw was several shades of green and blue. "So your name is
Skyler." She lowered her voice so that it was soft and beautiful, hiding the underlying
compulsion with a silvery sound.
Francesca took the girl's limp, scarred hand into hers, reaching at the same time for her mind.
She wanted to examine the child's memories, to see what had happened to her to make her lie
without moving, so lifeless and without hope. At once a flood of violence and depravity stormed
into her. Tears burned, clung to Francesca's lashes. Such a terrible existence. She felt every
blow the child had received, every burn, every rape, every act forced upon her, every single
torture, mental and physical, as if it had been done to her. The scars were on the inside as well
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