AN: If you've read any of my other stories, you already know that I'm really bad about disappearing for long periods of time and then popping back up out of nowhere. But if you're unaware of this, I apologize. I've had a rough semester in college, and things have been conspiring against my creativity. I hope this relatively long chapter might make it up to you. :)

HELENA

Three days. Would that be enough time to convince him? Was he so heartless, that he would seriously consider leaving her alone for months, vulnerable to all the horrors of her dreams? Surely not. Surely he would see that he was her only hope for surviving London. She had slept so well in the past several months that she had lost her ability to withstand the insomnia and hallucinations that always followed her nightmares. That was his fault.

Helena frowned down at her painting, lost in the memory of the night before. The sunlight, dappled by the maple tree under which she was sitting, played across her arms and the back of her neck, warm and soothing. The sprig of lavender he had brought her was tucked securely in her braid, and the gentle brush of the wind surrounded her with its scent. His presence was a constant now; he was somewhere close by, watching. Her faceless, nameless guardian.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what he looked like, tried to put together a picture in her mind of what she had felt through her hands.

It was no use. His face would not take shape. Lena let out a frustrated sigh and opened her eyes. The view before her was the same as the view from her bedroom window: gently rolling fields dotted with sheds and cottages, and beyond that, the wild forests of France. Well, they weren't really wild forests. There was no part of France that was truly 'wild' in this day and age, but Lena liked to think of them as wild, because she thought her companion might be more at home in untamed wilderness.

Margot was sitting several feet away, laboring in disapproving silence over the tangled ball of string that had, only moments before, been attached to her kite.

"Gogo, come sit in the shade," Lena suggested. "If you get burned, Maman will have my head."

Margot ignored her.

"And she'll never let you fly that thing again," Lena added in a mild voice. The eleven-year-old finally glanced up, frowned at Lena, and shoved herself up from the grass to join her sister beneath the maple tree. They worked alongside each other in silence for several minutes, but Margot's patience quickly waned. Lena glanced up from her painting just in time to see Margot hurl the ball of string off towards one of the gardening sheds.

"Why do we have to go to London, Lena?" Margot asked after heaving a deep, long-suffering sigh.

"Because Maman was born there, and she misses Aunt Patricia and Aunt Samantha."

"But it's so rainy. And there are far too many people, if you ask me."

Lena smiled, and glanced up towards the shadowed line of trees bordering the fields. If he was there, watching her, as her instincts said he was, then she could only hope he hadn't heard Margot's words. She didn't need her own sister's opinion helping him win this argument.

"It's not always rainy," she said, sliding her eyes back down to her watercolor palette. She scanned the myriad swirls of color and wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time, what color his eyes were. They wouldn't be hazel or green, both were far too common for him. She felt that secret smile tug her lips again.

"Most of the time, it is," Margot said with a pout. Lena rolled her eyes.

"Yes, well, most of the time, you're a– " A voice behind them cut her off before she could deliver her playful insult.

"You both still bicker like little fishwives, I see. Good to know at least that hasn't changed."

Lena felt excitement jolt through her, and she and Margot both leaped to their feet and whirled around to face the tall, handsome young man striding across the lawn towards them.

"Gregoire's back!" Margot shouted, throwing her arms out and running full tilt towards him with a childish squeal. Gregoire knelt down and pulled her up in a tight hug, laughing. Lena grinned as he set Margot down and approached. His hair was lighter than hers now, a light golden blonde, shot through with white and gold, and his skin was several shades darker, courtesy of the Egyptian sun.

"Hello, Lena," he said with a smile, and Lena gave up acting the adult and threw her arms around him with a laugh.

"Welcome home, Greg," she said warmly. "Margot was absolutely desolate without you."

"Yes, I was," Margot chimed. Then her eyes lit up. "What did you bring me, Greg? You brought me something, right?"

Gregoire laughed, and reached out to ruffle Margot's long chestnut curls.

"Of course I brought you something, Gogo. Come inside and I'll give it to you."

Margot and Gregoire turned to start back towards the house, and Lena bent down to pick up her art supplies.

"Leave them, Lena," Greg said. "We'll be coming right back out after I lavish gifts upon the two of you."

Lena grinned and shrugged. She stood to join them, and movement caught her eye. Instantly, her gaze darted towards the tree line. Nothing. Only shadow and wilderness. And, she noted suddenly, the blatant absence of a certain ball of tangled string.

Lena frowned. She glanced over at Greg. "Go on ahead, I'll be there in a minute."

Greg shrugged, met Margot's eyes, and with an unspoken signal, they both started sprinting towards the house, racing across the lawn, laughing and taunting each other as they went.

Lena narrowed her eyes and started walking. She was only fifty feet or so from the gardening shed, near where Margot had thrown her kite string in a fit of childish frustration. If he was anywhere, he'd be in there. But why had he risked being seen just to grab a ball of string? It was ludicrous! What if Margot had seen him? What if Greg had seen him?

The shed itself was not old. It was built in the English style, as her Mother liked it; it was decorative and disguised very cleverly as a small cottage. It wasn't, of course. It was where the gardeners kept their hoes and rakes and trowels and bags of flower and grass seed.

The door was slightly ajar. Lena felt her pulse quicken. He was definitely in there. He had to be. No one else could have gotten that string without being noticed first. Only he had that ability.

She put her hand on the smooth oak door and edged it open slightly without looking in.

"That was very impressive," she said softly, hoping she sounded calm. Her pulse was thundering in her ears. She'd never had the chance to talk to him in daylight, except for yesterday during her walk in the woods. The idea of it sent shivers of delight flowing across her skin.

She heard movement, very slight, just the rustle of fabric as he moved, and then a large hand shot out from inside the shed and latched onto her wrist. She only had time to notice tanned skin and the slash of a thick white scar across his knuckles. A heartbeat later, he had yanked her into the darkness, clamped one hand over her eyes and the other around her waist, and kicked the door shut. Lena felt her nerves tingle with awareness, even as her mind struggled to understand his actions. He pulled her back against him, holding her tightly.

He was incredibly strong, and large. Even now, even when she could feel the anger radiating from him, she couldn't help but notice the sleek, hard muscles, now rigid with fury, that she was pressed against. She closed her eyes, and when her eyelashes brushed the palm of his hand, he twitched.

"You're so warm," she whispered.

"I should have known," he growled suddenly, voice rumbling through his chest as he lowered his head to put his lips close to her ear. His tone was choked with fury and something else. Jealousy? His arm tightened around her. "I should have known that you would turn out like the rest of them. That you would throw me away when something better came along."

She lifted her hand to the big arm that was wrapped around her waist and slid her fingers over his, intertwining them. He froze.

"Release me," she said softly.

After a moment's hesitation, he loosened his grip. Lena took a deep breath, but instead of stepping away from him, she leaned back against him, resting her head back on his chest. She heard his breath catch in his throat.

"I stay with you of my own accord," she said, drawing his arm back around her waist.

"Now, what is it you think I have done?" she wondered, reaching up to gently pull his hand from her eyes. She opened them. There was very little light within the shed, but it would be enough to see his silhouette if she were facing him. It would be enough to make him uncomfortable.

"He is beautiful, Lena," her companion whispered sadly. "Is it because you can see him, and I will not let you see me? Is it because I am so hideous?"

Lena's eyes went wide. "Who?" She paused a moment, and then, when the realization hit, she let out a short, bemused laugh. "Are you talking about Gregoire?" she demanded.

He jolted, abruptly taking a step back from her. "That is your brother?"

"Of course it is," Lena snapped. She turned towards him, closing her eyes as she moved. "How could you think I would betray you like that?" She had every right to be angry with him. He'd put them both in jeopardy, he'd snapped at her and accused her of throwing him away.

But she couldn't bring herself to be angry. She just wanted to be near him, to touch him. It was so rare. He never touched her when she was in bed. He might never have touched her had she not kissed him.

Even when she had gone for that walk yesterday, he had not gotten close to her. Even when he'd given her the sprig of lavender, his fingertips had not brushed hers.

She could be angry with him later, when she was sure she wouldn't be losing him in two days. But not now.

"I'm sorry, Helena," he said quietly. "I did not realize who he was."

She said nothing, just walked towards him, slowly, careful not to trip and making sure to keep her eyes closed, until she was standing toe-to-toe with him. He had gone very still, like cornered prey.

She reached up and slid her hands over his bare chest, over scars and thick, curly hair. He flinched and sucked his breath in through his teeth, but he didn't back away. Lena tilted her head back slightly, and slid her hands up further, over the curves of his collarbones, and the soft skin of his neck, until she reached his face. He remained frozen, but a groan escaped his lips as she cupped his face in her hands.

She leaned against him, felt the heat of his body sear her everywhere his skin touched hers.

"I will only forgive you if you kiss me," she whispered.

He laughed breathlessly.

"I cannot do that, Lena," he said in a slow, controlled voice.

"Please," she begged. "Please, mon cher."

"It will destroy us both," he said. His tone almost matched hers, a plea for mercy.

"I don't care," she replied instantly. "You know I don't."

He tensed, as if he did not quite know what to do with himself. Lena didn't want to imagine the war going on inside his head, she just hoped with all her might that it would have the right outcome.

And then, slowly, he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers in a light, soft kiss, his entire body rigid with steely self-control.

Her nerves exploded with pleasure, and her body ached fiercely for his touch, for his kiss. Lena whimpered, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning against him to avoid sinking to the floor.

Something snapped in him. A growl, deep and primitive and full of promises, rumbled through his chest. Instantly, his arms were around her waist, and he was lifting her up, against him, to meet him as he pressed his lips firmly, hungrily against hers. Lena let herself relax in his arms, drowning in the sensations that overwhelmed her. Everything felt alive and so right. They were the center of the universe. Every touch, every movement he made sent a ripple of pleasure through her so intense that she thought she might cry.

His mouth was soft and warm, and she could feel the scar that cut through his bottom lip. It wasn't rough, and not at all unpleasant. When he broke the kiss for a quick breath, Lena leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his bottom lip, to the scar. He froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid. Lena frowned. Had she done something wrong?

"Good God, Helena," he rasped. Then he was lowering her to the ground, as carefully as if she were made of eggshells. Every muscle in his body trembled with restraint. "You must leave. Now."

"No," she said. He pried her arms from around his neck. "I'm not leaving."

"Lena," he growled softly, and he lifted his hands to her face and gently brushed his thumbs across her jawline. She felt another whimper escape her throat. "You have to leave before I lose control again."

"Why do you keep pushing me away?" she wondered, shivering as the rough pad of his thumb brushed over her bottom lip, pleasure tingling through her entire body.

"Because," he began, and swept one arm beneath her knees and lifted her as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather. He carried her to the door of the shed. In the distance, she could hear voices calling out her name. He sat her down, fingers brushing over her skin reverently, before placing one big hand on the small of her back and pushing her out of the shed.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered, and then he closed the door behind her.

Lena's eyes shot open, wide with surprise and anger. She started to turn to berate him, maybe even barge back into the shed, when a voice startled her back to the real world.

"Lena! Where did you disappear to?" Margot demanded imperiously. "Greg won't let us have any of our presents until you come in!"

Lena managed a shaky smile as her curly haired baby sister came closer. "Sorry, mon chou," she said. "I went looking for your ball of string. I think an animal made off with it."

Margot's face fell. She stared down at the spot where she'd thrown the string, eyes wandering in search of whatever evil little creature may have taken it. She glanced up, then behind Lena, and her eyes went wide.

"There it is!" Margot danced forward, right up to the door of the garden shed, and sitting there beside Lena was the missing ball of string, perfectly wrapped and free of knots. "Oh, thank you for fixing it for me, Lena!" Margot turned and wrapped Lena in a strong, suffocating hug, and Lena felt herself smile.

"Come on, Gogo," she murmured to her sister. "Let's go get spoiled rotten, shall we?" Margot squealed her agreement and led the way, racing off back to the house. Lena walked more slowly, turning back once to gaze at the garden shed. She didn't even have the energy to be mad at him for his parting comment. She would correct him tonight. She would make him see that he must come to London with her, or she would go mad from lack of sleep and lack of him.

Lena sighed and turned back towards the house, maliciously hoping that he was suffering as much as she was at that moment.