His wife had tolerated it. They already had three children and apparently Mrs. Collins had no interest in having more. Elisa hadn’t conceived, thankfully, because an older girl in the household, Linda, had taught her the necessary herbs and methods to stay that way. She’d worried at first it was a sin, but the pragmatic Linda told her that starving to death in the street with a child to suckle and no way to feed it except whoring with far more dangerous strangers might be a bigger sin. Elisa had taken the herb packets and the little sponge.

His wife was no longer as tolerant when Elisa turned eighteen. But Mr. Collins had made sure she ended up with his friend Mr. Pearlmutton, who’d been less kind, but only because he expected her experience. He taught her to do the things he enjoyed, and sometimes she felt unexpected spirals of pleasure. Not because she found him appealing, but because sometimes his fingers and the movement of his cock did things to her. Those puzzling instances were nothing next to the few handfuls of times Willis had kissed her. Then she’d felt the true promise of something building in her lower extremities, a much stronger reaction that made her cling to him shamelessly those few times.

She hadn’t known it was possible for women to enjoy rutting the way men did, all that grunting and heaving. She’d seen whores fake it in alleyways with their clients, but it wasn’t until she came into a female vampire’s employ that she’d seen what the act could be for a woman.

Lady Constance and Ian had shared a room, and she heard them a few times, but initially she assumed Lady Constance faked it, like the whores, to make Ian happy. After all, a girl had to give a man that to keep him around, and in return he took care of her and helped her do things. Lady Constance owned the station, though, and was the overlord for the territory. She didn’t seem to need that kind of security from Ian.

Then Danny and Dev came to live in the station house and Elisa was given an eye-opening education. It wasn’t like she’d popped in on them in their bedroom to get a front-row seat. It was a gradual thing, starting with how they were with each other. At night, she’d seen Danny press up behind Dev while he was bent over a table, reviewing the ledger books. The female vampire would get so close there was no space between their bodies, her breasts pressed tight against his broad back, hips firmly against his tight arse. Her lady’s hand would slide down his muscular thigh, her knuckles teasing her way across the hard line of it. Though Elisa pretended she didn’t see, Dev’s cock would react, getting full and stiff in his trousers, and Lord, he was blessed far more in that department than most.

He’d smile that faint smile of his when Danny whispered she didn’t want him to stop what he was doing, that she expected her station manager to keep her accounts up-to-date. As he tried to do her bidding, her hands would stroke and squeeze, wander until it was obvious he couldn’t pay any attention to anything but her.

As mesmerizing as it was to see a man as handsome as Dev get aroused, Elisa’s fascination had been with Lady Danny. She was fully in charge of all of it. She didn’t have to couple with Dev to keep him. He was her servant . . . He served her.

It had been confounding. One early dawn, she’d come to the kitchen to get a cup of bedtime tea, thinking she was the only one moving about. She’d heard murmuring, soft gasps, and paused at the library. The double doors had been open just a crack. It was wrong, but she’d looked. And then she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Danny was in one of the comfortable broad chairs, her long white legs draped wide over the arms but her ankles coming in like the shape of a heart to rest on the lower curve of Dev’s broad, bare back. He’d had his mouth between her legs, teasing and suckling her there the way they often kissed, with tongue and deep penetration. As his head moved, Elisa saw the pink lips of Danny’s sex, wet not just from his mouth, for she heard him murmur, “Ah, love, your cream is the sweetest treat I know.”

Danny had arched up, her fingers spearing into his hair, and the flush that crossed her body was obviously not pretense, the way her muscles strained and her body both yearned and resisted his hold on her thighs. The climax that took her made her grip harder, and her head dropped forward and then snapped back as a cry split from her throat, a cry of pleasure she didn’t care if anyone heard. Dev’s back muscles rippled as he tightened his grip. He still wore his trousers, but he’d had them open and loose, so Elisa could see the upper rise of his buttocks, a glimpse of the seam between. He flexed rhythmically, as if he were already inside her. Holding on, he kept teasing and suckling, until that cry became a scream of absolute, undeniable pleasure.

Elisa had been surprised to find her own thighs damp with a thick response of her own. Thanks to Mr. Collins, she knew how to make herself slippery using her fingers, until the collywobbles were dancing in her stomach. That was how he’d told her to do it, but he hadn’t said anything about keeping on with it until it reached the point Danny seemed to be experiencing. It made Elisa wonder if it was possible to do it to oneself. For the first time in her life, she had a yearning to try, but she slept in the housekeeper’s room, Mrs. Pritchett, and there was no way she’d risk being discovered doing that. Seeking pleasure by oneself was definitely a sin. Right?

And why on earth had she gone down this road in her mind, far beyond where she’d intended to go to simply dispel a bad memory?

She started at Thomas’s hand on her shoulder. “We’re here, Elisa.”

Focusing, she saw they were in a valley. A long field stretched away to the left, merging into a new set of rolling inclines that led up into higher, rockier terrain. It reminded her of the terrain surrounding Danny’s station, a reassuring thought.

The house was a dark, sprawling smudge in the center of the field, but it wasn’t some tall, opulent mansion. It was built much like the station itself, with a porch that wrapped all the way around, and open doors and spaces, welcoming the land around it. The sturdy post and wire fence built along the perimeter of the field and encompassing the house, vehicles and outbuildings didn’t detract from the feeling. As they went through the gate and pulled up to the front of the house, she saw a pair of house cats on one of the wooden swings, their eyes gleaming off the Jeep headlights as Chumani killed the engine. At the bottom of the porch steps, a trellis thickly covered with vines showed off white, mysterious-looking flowers the size of Elisa’s hands. The blooms had a light, haunting scent.

“Moonflowers,” Thomas murmured. “My lady loves them. Unlike most flowers, they open at night and close during the day.”

“Kohana cares for the house, does the gardening and upkeep around the place,” Chumani offered. “He’s got a way with greenery. He’ll have heard us. Takes him just a minute to—Well, here he is.”

As the door opened and a male figure filled it, she raised her voice. “About time you got off your lazy ass, mato. Need to come out and give Mal’s guests a proper greeting.”

“Well, they’ll certainly not have gotten it from you, will they have, pahin?”

As the man moved forward out of the block of dim light behind him, Elisa saw he was limping. He had only one leg, the other amputated just above the knee, his pants tied in a convenient knot on that side. With the use of a carved crutch, he moved forward with practiced ease, however. He came down the steps by holding the crutch in one hand, and hopping without the aid of the banister, his other leg taking his considerable weight.

Elisa was used to everyone towering over her. Mal had probably been about six feet tall. However, this man had to be a foot higher, with a face scarred by three spaced lines on one side. His wide shoulders strained against a flannel shirt tucked into the workman’s trousers. She noted he wore a pair of hunting knives strapped to his hip. Despite his infirmity, the shirt revealed well-defined forearms and hinted at muscular biceps. The flex of his body when he maneuvered down the stairs said that he was as fit as any man they’d left unloading the cages. He looked to be in his fifties, streaks of gray in his dark hair, tied back loose and unbraided.

When his gaze settled on her, Elisa realized she really must look quite tapped out, because everyone was giving her that assessing look. All right, then, fine. So Mr. Malachi was right about the sleep. She’d get some sleep, she’d eat and then she’d talk to him again. And maybe she’d act much more sensibly.

Kohana came to her, leaned on his crutch and extended a hand to help her out. His dark eyes were deep-set over those prominent cheekbones Malachi and all the staff seemed to have, perhaps an Indian trait, though there were structural differences between the three that suggested different tribes. Had they left reservations? From what the book had said about those, she suspected this was a much nicer place, but there had to be a good story explaining their presence here. She’d have to find out, tell the children, since they’d gotten used to Dev telling them stories and she didn’t want them to lack for it. Of course, she’d have to work on her storytelling skills, because Dev was raised in the Aboriginal tradition. He could tell stories with flare, making different voices and dramatic body movement.

When Kohana spoke, he had a good story voice himself. It was deep and slow, his accent suggesting his musical native language. She wanted to reach up and touch his face, just as she had when she first saw the pictures of Indians in the books. Trace the flare of the nose, those sharp cheekbones. Malachi had possessed thick, dark lashes and his nose had an uneven slope that indicated it had once been broken. She knew he was a made vampire, not a born one like Danny, so the break would have predated his making.

Being a made vampire meant he had a lower status among vampires, but it didn’t appear relevant on this remote island. In fact, from what she’d seen so far, Elisa expected he’d have a few choice things to say to any highbrow vampire who wanted to talk down to him.

“You look as though you’re already dreaming, miss.”

Elisa snapped out of it, realized she had in fact been hazily staring at Kohana’s face, lost in her thoughts. Heavens, if she’d been this addled and disoriented at the station, Mrs. Rupert, the cook, would have taken a switch to her arse, something she’d threatened once or twice when Elisa first came to work for Lady Constance, but had never done. A good thing, too, since Ian got dangerously worked up by that kind of thing. He’d have probably insisted on watching if he’d heard of it, his pledge to Lady Constance to keep his hands off Elisa notwithstanding.