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unnaturally strong desire coming off him. His latent sexuality, yes; she could still feel that, could feel it pulling deliciously at her very core, but not to the exaggerated, frightening degree of before.
    What had changed? Was it only his waking?
    And how could he sense her presence?
    "Or instead of asking
who
you are, perhaps I should ask
what
you are?" he asked, a brow lifting.
    "I am not a
what
," Samira muttered, indignant, and then clamped her lips shut. It was stupid of her to make a sound.
    He gave no indication that he had heard her. He stared into the darkness above him for several seconds, then lowered his head and shook it, as if dismissing his fancies. He rubbed the back of his neck and limped slowly back to the table spread with books. He stared at the open book upon which he had been sleeping.
    Samira hesitated, afraid he was bluffing, but as the minutes went by and he continued to do nothing but stare at the book, she gathered the shreds of her courage and spread her wings, sliding off the beam. With a few gentle flaps she slowly coasted down to the floor, landing lightly on her feet at the opposite side of the table from him.
    Nicolae lifted his face, a frown between his dark brows. Samira froze, fear blooming full force within her. She tensed, ready for flight. His gaze searched the area around where she stood, but again he seemed to see nothing. She saw that his eyes were a warm, clear brown, flecked with yellow, the iris rimmed by a darker brown that was almost black.
    She stepped closer to the table, nervously watching his face for reaction and seeing none. She fought against her trembling fear and dared herself to test the limits of what he could sense. She leant her hips against the edge of the wood.
    No reaction.
    She made herself bend forward, until her own face was inches from his and she could almost imagine the faint feel of his breath against her skin. The puzzled look came back into his eyes, even as they failed to focus on her.
    "Are you still here?" he whispered.
    She blinked in astonishment.
    He continued to stare blindly through her. "If you're here, please tell me. Show me, somehow."
    She pressed her cheek to his, just enough so that the surface of hers made the lightest of contact with his. It was not a true touch of solid matter to solid matter, but he might feel the faint tingling of it.
    He jerked his head back, startled, plainly having felt
something
, and it not having been to his liking. "What are you?" he demanded, the harshness back in his voice.
    Something small suddenly broke inside her at the question, for it was as if he were interrogating a loathsome beast he'd found hiding under his bed. She was a
thing
to him. The strange sadness that had plagued her for six years welled up once again, and again she wanted to weep like a human, with tears to relieve the ache inside her.
    For what was she? A defiler of a brother's love. A soulless creature with no heart, and no future other than to look from her lonely vantage into the loves and lusts of others, doomed always to pretend to live and never to feel or grow or change.
    She fought against the despairing thoughts, her pride begging her not to admit them even to herself. "I'm your every dream come true," she said aloud instead, fighting to believe her own words.
    This man Nicolae was no better than she, she told herself. He had no one to love him, and he loved no one in return. He needed a
creature
like her, whether he knew it or not. He needed to be taken by her in his dreams, again and again, until he was drugged with pleasure and woke every morning with the echoes of bliss still in his blood and the horrors of war pushed far to the back of his mind. Then he wouldn't need to ask her what she was. He would know, and be grateful.
    Nicolae's gaze suddenly dropped, and she dropped her own eyes to see where he was looking. It was again the book upon which he had been sleeping. The open pages were covered in dense black writing, and in