[i]Alistair[/i]. The name struck Sasha with physical force, seen in the narrowing of his eyes. It was only her father’s name, of course, but he knew it was inherited. That confirmed it. And good thing, too, finding her had required an enormous amount of research through paper databases and online ancestry sites. Stealing credit cards to pay for those documents had become tiresome.

After a beat, Sasha released Alice’s wrist, and then he folded his arms again. He had breached beyond accepted etiquette by now. There was no uncertainty of a hostile element at play; he had bared his intentions. Now she was either going to try to run, or phone police. Sasha watched her, prepared to prevent her from doing either. 

“Ransom?” He indulged in a chuckle and the roll of his eyes. “Darling, what I need can’t be bought. I meant what I said. I need [i]you[/i]. Have you ever been to Marseille?”

Feeling a trace of oddly human guilt, Sasha conceded with a sigh and let his shoulders droop.

“You can stop puffing out your chest, sweetheart.” He batted the air with the back of one hand before tucking it back into his elbow. “I have no desire to hurt you. But you and I are leaving, tonight.”

Looking to his left, Sasha feathered his hair as he looked at the mirror, pretending that he could see his reflection in a mockery of vanity.

“Alistair. It’s a family name, isn’t it?” He already knew that it was. “How much do you know about your ancestry? Back to the Celts?”