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the spot, unable to tell exactly where she was in her own bathroom. I see something. Colors. Red and yellow. Like heat images.
     Take a deep breath, your heart is beating too fast. It is nothing. Let the images go. You may have been seeing what I was seeing. Our connection is strong. Byron bit back the ominous growl in this throat, hackles rising. He shifted shape back to his human form and bent over her sleeping cousin.
     Cautiously, Antonietta opened her eyes and saw the comforting darkness. That made me sick to my stomach. How strange. Rather than use the centuries-old bathing pools, now modernized, Antonietta filled her private bathtub and tossed in scented salts. She wanted to feel beautiful tonight She needed to feel beautiful.
     Where are you? She didn't want to be alone. In spite of her bravado, she was frightened by the events of the evening and wanted the comfort of Byron's powerful presence. She peeled off her damp slacks and laid them carefully on the vanity. The simple act of removing her lacy bra and panties made her feel sexy. A tempting siren.
     She stepped into the bath, sank into the blessedly hot water, and allowed her head to fall back against the side of the tub.
     I am standing over your cousin Paul. He is sleeping deeply, and I do not think it is a normal sleep. I must spend a few minutes examining him. Are the windows in your rooms closed and secured?
     Her breasts floated on the scented water as she relaxed. I didn't think to check. I will before I go to bed.
     Have you smelted a strange odor? A wild cat. Large breed.
     Antonietta sat up straight, the water beading, rushing down her skin. Why would you think that? What made you ask me that?
     Byron was silent, analyzing her voice. There was fear in her tone. Fear in her mind, but her barriers were intact and strong. For a moment he considered pushing through to get the information he needed, but she was his hie mate, and he had learned, all too well, the danger of trying to force and manipulate. Patience, he reminded himself. Above all, a Carpathian nude could endure.
     Antonietta could not escape him, now that he found her. He had not counted on danger in her own home.
     Byron? Why would you think I would smell a wild cat?
     She sounded very anxious. For the first time he wished he could see images around her through her eyes. He felt textures through her, but there were no images to aid him. He had to use feelings. Emotions were still somewhat alien and overpowering. It made him dangerous and near the edge of control.
     I smell a cat here, in this room. And also I smelted the same creature in your grandfather's room. He answered truthfully because she was his life mate, but his instincts told him she knew something he did not.
     Are you with Paul or Franco?
     Paul.
     There was another long silence. He tuned his acute hearing to finding her room. Bathwater splashed as if she were agitated. He closed his eyes with a small groan, picturing her lush body naked and floating in the scented water. Her silky hair would be surrounding her, an allure he would never be able to resist.
     His entire body tightened, hardened to a painful ache. Antonietta. How much he wanted her. How difficult it was to wait. He savored every moment with her. And his creativity, so long gone, was returning, thanks to her.
     Is it Paul? Does he have the scent of a cat? There was reluctance to her voice, as if she might be betraying someone… or something she held dear. And there was an underlying note of fear. She tried to hide it, but it was there.
     Byron leaned over Paul, examining every inch of him, paying attention to his fingernails, his arms, looking for scratches, for any telltale sign that would indicate he had been a party to the attack on Don Giovanni and his grand-daughter. There was one long scratch along the inside of his left forearm. It looked raw and angry.
     Byron! Please, does he have the scent of the cat?
     The Scarletti palazzo and the