Because that lethal response was part of the nature of Warlord Princes, the Blood had long ago established Protocols to give other males a chance of survival. When a Warlord Prince indicated interest in a female, the other males stood back, giving him time to get to know her—and for her to get to know him and consider if she wanted that formidable temper and driving sexual hunger focused exclusively on her. Because it would be exclusive. But the choice was always hers. When she’d spent enough time with him to make a decision, she would either accept him as a lover . . . or tell him to go. And if she told him to go, he didn’t argue, didn’t try to persuade her—he had to walk away. That was part of Protocol, too.

But he couldn’t even follow Protocol because she was his damn housekeeper. She had every right to expect him to protect her from any male’s unwanted sexual attention—and that included him.

But . . . Hell’s fire, she was pulling at him in too many ways. Her fear spiked his temper because his instincts demanded that he defend and protect—and destroy whatever was causing that fear. He couldn’t do that because he was the cause. And underneath that fear he sensed a warm, quiet strength that intrigued and aroused him, that made him want to wrap himself around her and breathe in her psychic scent as well as her physical smells. Oh, he’d been stirred by a few women over the past three years, and there had been times when the hunger inside him had been fierce, but never enough to give in, never enough for him to forget the rage and bitterness that had flavored most of his sexual experience. So it had been easy enough to turn away from that stirring, to chain that hunger. Until Marian had walked into the kitchen. Now he wanted, and he wasn’t sure if he could keep that hunger chained.

Lucivar looked toward the eyrie. Maybe, once she was settled in the housekeeper’s room, her fear would ease a little. Maybe it would ease enough that she would stay, although he wasn’t sure if her staying would be a torment or a boon.

He sighed, then turned back to look at Tassle. “I’m going to get her settled in for the night. You stay here. I don’t think she can handle more than one male at a time right now.”

Tassle whined but didn’t follow him when he went back to the eyrie.

She was still in the kitchen, her eyes too bright with fear.

“I’ll show you to your room.” His voice was as calm as he could make it, but there was a hint of a growl that was a response to her fear.