My name is Darian. Help me. The man in her head just wouldn’t leave her alone. She spent the better half of the next day too depressed to leave her bed before forcing herself up and parking on the patio in the sun, determined not to waste another day in the dark. Darian—whoever he was—would drive her crazy if she didn’t find a way to distract her thoughts. Han stayed with her, not moving until two Guardians—a raven-haired man with a quick smile and a brooding blond—approached. He stood and shook hands with both of them.
“The winter’s better here than Europe, I imagine,” he said with a smile. “This is Ikira Sofia.”
“Ikira, I’m honored,” the dark-haired man said with a bow and a thick Spanish accent. “I’m Grande.”
“That would be a description of his ego and nothing else,” the brooding blond said with a light French accent. “I’m Pierre, ikira.”
“Boring,” Grande said. “He skipped the class on good nom de plumes.”
Pierre gave him a sidelong look at his butchered French, and Sofia smiled despite herself.
“Grande and Pierre are joining us from our European front. We rotate every twelve months or so,” Han explained.
“Front? Like war front?” she asked.
“Fighting Czerno and his monsters.”
“Ikira, welcome,” Grande said.
“Thanks. Call me Sofia.”
“No,” Han said, leveling a look on them both. “Dusty’s a stickler for titles.”
“Mi corazón,” Grande said, faking a wounded look. Pierre punched him in the shoulder, and they walked toward the garage.
“What is ikira?” she asked, turning to Han.
“Similar to ‘my queen.’ You rank up near Damian now.”
Her smile faded. The mention of him reminded her of her cramped stomach and the half dozen failed attempts to eat normal food.
“It’s a good thing,” Han said at her silence. “He owns your ass. No one will mess with you.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“I bet you won’t make it another day and a half,” he said.
“We’ll see. Let me ask you something, Han,” she said, facing him. “What am I supposed to be doing? If I’m not a financial planner, should I be oracl-ing or something?”
“Ask your master.”
“I knew you’d say that. And he’s not my master. I’m an American; we don’t have masters.”
“I will give you a piece of advice,” he said, unaffected by her tirade. “Don’t wait until tomorrow to go to him or you’ll crawl to him on your knees. No matter what you think, you can’t live without his blood. You might as well make it on your terms, ordering him to submit, rather than begging and mauling him like an animal.”
“Wow,” she murmured. “You really want to win this bet, don’t you?”
“You’re too smart to be so damn stubborn. Jake lost his life saving you, Sofia, and you’re acting like a fucking two-year-old.” And he walked away. Sofia watched him, stunned by his rebuke. Her thoughts went to Jake, and she saddened. He was right. He was always right, even when he told her to ask Damian something he knew very well.
On her terms. If she had it her way, she’d not do it at all. She’d never known hunger like this!
“It’s your fate,” she reminded herself.
How silly was an Oracle who refused her own destiny? If for no other reason, she owed it to Jake to try. She drew a deep breath and marched into the mansion. Damian was rarely indoors during the day, and she hoped he wasn’t in his room when she knocked. Her courage fled to see him framed in his doorway, as seductive by day as he was by night.
He didn’t ask her why she came but stepped aside and motioned her in. Sofia balled her fists and entered, sweating at the thought of the ordeal ahead.
“I feel like some sort of animal,” she told him. But I want to live. “I’m scared, Damian.”
“I know,” he said, holding out a hand to her.
She took it, her insides quaking in anticipation and hunger. He sat her down on the couch and sat down across from her with the knife in hand. She closed her eyes, more of his home videos playing through her mind.
“Stop,” he warned.
She opened her eyes. A flash of darkness went through his gaze, and the same sense of hidden fury returned.
“You hate this.”
“I do, but not because of you,” he said.
“Someone hurt you? Was this during your dark period?”
“It was,” he confirmed between clenched teeth.
She took the hint but wondered who had hurt him so badly that he still bore a grudge thousands of years later. He sliced his wrist, and her attention turned immediately to thick liquid bubbling against his olive skin.
This isn’t right.
You’ll die without it.
She recoiled, pushing herself against the couch. He sat beside her, stroking her hair with one hand.
“You won’t hurt me,” he assured her.
She refused to move. He shifted his hand to her neck and held her in place, placing his bloodied wrist against her lips.
The scent, the taste, was unlike anything she ever experienced. Sofia licked her lips, the rich flavor as ensnaring as his scent. She lapped once with the tip of her tongue, tasting both the metallic, spicy blood and her tears. She opened her mouth and drank from him, timidly at first then hungrily. Damian hissed beside her, his grip on her neck tightening. She withdrew, afraid to hurt him.
“Don’t stop,” he urged, his voice huskier, lower. “Drink.”
She closed her eyes and drank. When she pulled back at last, she sat in a daze, fulfilled and content yet unable to shake the horror of what she’d done. Damian had turned his face away and was clenching a thick knuckle between his teeth.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, appalled.
“No,” he grated. “Are you done?”
“Yes.”
“You better go.” Something in his voice compelled her to hurry. Sofia fled to her room, amazed at how good she felt. She was no longer hungry, and she felt energized, fulfilled.
Guilty.
How long could she live like this, drinking someone else’s blood?
It was still sooooo wrong!
She tried to sift through her emotions before she returned to his door. He opened it before she knocked, dressed for sparring in his judo pants and nothing else. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from devouring his body with her eyes.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she said. “And … I’m okay, right?”
“We’re cool,” he said, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Whenever you’re hungry, you can come by.”
He was guarded again. She felt like the morning after a drunk, one night stand. What did she say after the most awkward experience of her life? The thought of his blood lit her afire, almost as much as the sight of his bare chest.
What would sleeping with him while drinking from him be like? She backed away from his door, wondering how that deviant thought emerged. Han eyed her as she hurried past him toward the library. Dressed for sparring, he waited with Grande and Pierre for Damian.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“You always ask me that. If I’m not, you’ll know,” she replied curtly.
“Very well, ikira.”
She glared at him, sensing his amusement. Damian trotted down the stairs. She didn’t look at him until his back was to her on their way toward the door. As if feeling her gaze on him, he paused at the door.
“If you ever want to try it, let me know.”
“Try what? Sparring?”
Screwing and drinking. His voice was as clear in her mind as if he spoke the words. She sucked in a sharp breath, at once confused and thrilled. Without looking at her, he strode through the doors into the courtyard.
“I do not understand you,” she whispered after him. His simple words turned her inside out, and yet, what would he want with a woman like her? If he was what Han claimed—king, lord, master of the entire damn universe—wouldn’t he take the supermodel of his choice?
Target of opportunity. Maybe that’s all she was.
She shook her head. If she was an Oracle, she needed to learn to be one. She retreated to the study and began to search the shelves for books on Oracles. Many of the books looked ancient, with some written in different languages. One volume, Oracle, See Thyself Home, caught her attention.
She collected what she could find and perched in a chair, reading until sundown, when the hunger pangs hit her again. They were always worse at night, when Damian’s draw was overwhelming. The thought of him without his shirt on, or better yet, naked …
“No way in hell,” she breathed.
She gritted her teeth and forced her attention to the stack of books, jotting down notes on her notepad. There appeared to be no such thing as a do-it-yourself manual for seeing the future, but the books had a few good—if bizarre—anecdotal stories that gave her ideas. Armed with her notes, she emerged from the library.
The mansion was quiet, and she roamed until she found where everyone was. The men were at dinner, including Damian. The scents of what looked like pizza night taunted her, and she stood peering through the cracked door at the long dinner table.
Bitterness slithered through her.
She was even different from them. Her reading had shed some insight, saying that when an Oracle died, she could be brought back to life by a blood bond. There weren’t many details, and she could only guess that this was not the normal case, as some stories mentioned Oracles attending great feasts.
She watched the men eating happily around the table and left the mansion for the gardens. A cold wind comforted her as she sat alone. The moon was covered by clouds, and she crumpled the notes she’d taken. Tears began to spill again, and she began to understand how Darian felt, utterly alone and abandoned in the corner of her mind.
“You should go inside.” Damian’s voice was soft. She didn’t hear him approach.
“I don’t belong there. I don’t belong anywhere.”
“You belong here,” he said resolutely. “You were forced into a transition without being prepared for it. I’m sorry for that.”
“But are you sorry for what I am?”
“Not at all.” He pried the notes from her hand. “What is this?”
“I’m trying to learn to be an Oracle. I read a couple of books today.”
He studied what she had written.
“There’s no dummies guide,” she added. “I think I can teach myself how to keep from seeing deaths whenever I touch someone.” She sneaked a look at his face, surprised to see the warm smile there as he read through her notes.
“Have you tried any of this?” he asked.
“No.”
“Try it.”
She took it back. She wanted to reach out to him, but she was ashamed even to look at him. Would he soon grow tired of her showing up at his door, demanding a meal?
“I don’t want to use you,” she voiced out loud.
“Pardon?”
“I don’t want to use you for … for your blood. I don’t like being dependent on anyone. It’ll get old for you one day.”
“It won’t.”
“How could it not? It’s just the way things are,” she insisted. “I’m an addict. You’re the supplier. What if you get a new job someday and stop selling drugs?”
“I never thought of it that way,” he admitted, chuckling. “I am what I am, and you are what you are. I don’t second-guess that.”
“I’m not as confident as you. My existence relies on you giving me blood. Sometimes I think you’d rather eat me than talk to me.” She hugged herself and faced him, agitated. “I don’t like being hungry and not being able to go to the kitchen.”
“I understand.”
By the reserved note in his voice, he did. If she closed her eyes, she would see the black memories crossing through his mind, but she allowed him his privacy.
“I will never make you beg or deny you what you need,” he said, gaze dark. “If you’re hungry, visit the kitchen. I won’t say no.”
“I don’t want this.”
“It’s not your choice. You must learn to trust me.”
Trust! She almost laughed. Kidnapping, involuntary resurrection—these were not the foundations on which trust was built!
***
Damian held out his hand to her. She hesitated while her silver eyes swirled with hypnotic slowness. His terrified, brave little Oracle was entrancing, the shimmer that caught his attention when they met much stronger with their bond.
She was trying. He never thought something so simple could please him so much. He couldn’t flush away the dark memories from his time after the Schism when he’d been enslaved by humans intent on using his god-powers, but he could protect her from a similar fate. She moved forward, taking refuge from him in his own arms, a reality that amused him.
“Damian, I’m a monster, even in your world.” Her heartbreak was in her voice, and he squeezed her closer to him. He didn’t think he’d ever met a human or Guardian as honest as this one.
“At least you’re a cute monster,” he replied.
She pulled away, her anger rippling through him. He didn’t know how something so innocuous could piss her off, but then again, thousands of years hadn’t given him much insight into a woman’s mind.
“You’re a jerk, Damian!” she said, glaring at him before running away.
“You better run, woman,” he growled, irritated by her response.
His gaze followed her until she disappeared into the house, and he shook his head. He let her get away with so much! She had no idea how his world operated! He didn’t understand the ins and outs of their blood bond, but he knew how much she rocked his world when she drank from him earlier.
In a different time, he’d simply command her to take her place at his side and in his bed as his mate and slake his heated blood whenever he felt the need. The ancient kings—his father and brother included—had regularly taken Oracles as their queens. He began to understand why and couldn’t help but feel frustrated at having to find a way to win her instead of command her.
His phone dinged, and he pulled it out to see the odd text message.
Ikir, may I enter your home?
He gazed at the message, puzzled, before he realized who it was and typed a response.
At your risk, Watcher.
“I knocked this time, ikir.”
He turned to see the small man with bright green eyes that glowed in the moonlight. Damian crossed his arms and leaned against the wall around the trickling fountain at his back.
“I admit, this technology makes it much easier for me to communicate,” the Watcher said, gazing at his phone.
Damian raised an eyebrow, not about to humor the otherworldly harbinger of bad news.
“I hope you don’t spend enough time here to learn to use too much technology,” he said pointedly. “What’s up, Watcher?”
“The Grey God is coming.”
“The what?”
“I had to wait until you found your Oracle to tell you. I do apologize,” the Watcher said. “If you hadn’t found her, he wouldn’t come. But now he will.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“To contain the, uh, coaching being done, the Original Beings are ordaining a new god to act as a sort of referee here on earth who will have the ability to bridge the physical and divine worlds.”
“Y’all pissed really them off this time, didn’t you?” Damian said.
“Yes, ikir, I think we did.”
“What is this Grey God?”
“I can’t tell you, but you must be on the lookout for him. You have to protect him,” the Watcher said.
“Didn’t your Original friends give him god-powers?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Damian waited. The Watcher returned his gaze to his phone, reading a text. “Fascinating.”
“You gonna try to explain?” Damian prompted.
“No, ikir.”
He studied the small man infatuated with his phone. He’d hoped never to see the Watcher again.
“I’ve assigned you a ringtone,” the Watcher said in satisfaction.
“Didn’t think you Watchers liked us lesser beings contacting you.”
“In an emergency.”
“Is that your way of saying something bad’s gonna happen, and I’ll need to call you?”
“No, ikir,” the Watcher said, looking up. “But in case it does …”
“Right,” Damian said, not amused by the cryptic responses.
“Will you tell your team captains I may visit them?”
Despite his suspicion, Damian chuckled. “You can stop with the basketball analogies. You mean Dusty and Jule?”
“My apologies, ikir. I wanted to explain things to you in a way you’d be able to understand.”
“Yeah, we’re all idiots here on planet earth.”
The Watcher smiled in response, and Damian knew well enough his kind truly thought themselves superior.
“I’ll tell them not to kill you on sight, if that’s what you’re asking,” Damian continued. “But I’ll warn you as well: if you speak in riddles to Dusty, he’ll cut your heart out. And Jule may smile at you, but you better disappear fast if you tell him something he doesn’t like.”
“I understand,” the Watcher said. “I want only the opportunity to speak to Dusty, if needed. Jule’s still on what you might call the otherworldly shit list.”
Damian straightened, at his limit with the cryptic nonsense. “Anything else you wanna avoid telling me?”
“No, ikir.”
“Walk yourself out.” He strode away. He felt the Watcher’s presence disappear as he entered the mansion. His phone dinged again, and he glanced down.
Thank u, ikir.
“Just when things were complicated enough,” he muttered and retreated to his study for his evening telecon with Dusty and Jule.
They were both online already, swapping vamp stats.
“Dusty, do I need to send someone to Miami to fix your IT?” he asked as a message popped upon his screen.
“You know he’s a techno-phobe,” Jule said. “Still using stamps and envelopes.”
I prefer the personal touch to this e-shit, Dusty typed.
“Hey, there’s something I need to tell you guys,” Damian said grimly. “The Watchers are in town, and they may be dropping by to visit.”
There was a pause in activity before Dusty’s Uh-oh.
“You have no idea,” Damian said. “We’ll talk when you’re in town. Whatcha got for me tonight?”
***
“Okay, ikira, what do you See?”
She tentatively touched Pierre’s outstretched arm. He took his place on the sparring field, and Grande leaned close to her.
“He’ll win in seven moves,” she told him.
“Pierre for the kill,” Grande said, handing Han one from the wad of dollars in his hand.
“This is working too well,” Han said, eyeing her.
“If only you could touch horses,” Grande said with a sigh of exaggerated melancholy. “We’d be kings at the races.”
She was getting a better grip on her newfound talent and was now able to predict the winner of their rounds—without flashes of their deaths. Han motioned him away, and Grande shifted down a seat.
“Isn’t there a better use for your gift than lining Grande’s pockets?” he asked.
“I asked you the other day, and you weren’t at all helpful,” she reminded him. “If you have any ideas, let me know.” Her stomach growled loudly. She ignored Han’s knowing look.
“I win again!” Grande exclaimed as Pierre’s opponent went down. “Dos dolares, señor.”
“Enough,” Han said. “No more bets with ikira. It’s called cheating in the real world.”
“You have any other magic tricks for us?” Pierre called to her.
“Not today.”
“Magic tricks,” Han muttered. “In my day, Oracles were the most revered, most feared and celebrated. This generation has no idea. Including you, ikira. You’re all fucking idiots.”
“You’re no fun today, Han. What gives?” Sofia said, surprised. He grimaced in response. She touched his arm. “You’re leaving me,” she said, saddening. “Why?”
“Battle is what we do,” he answered then looked at her. “What did you see?”
Damian’s rules for Oracles returned to her.
“You’ll live,” she said. After your leg is broken next week.
He appeared relieved, and she felt guilty. And hungry. Always hungry. She chewed her lip and glanced at her own wrist. Did her blood taste half as good as Damian’s? She made a face, drooling at the thought of Damian’s blood again.
“I guess I’m done here,” she said and rose.
She placed a checkmark next to the first of her ideas for learning to use her power. She wandered the mansion as she often did, restless and starving. She found herself again in front of Damian’s door. She’d been there twice before today and only knocked once for fear he’d answer. And then she’d tried to eat chocolate and ended up in the bathroom even weaker and hungrier.
I don’t want this! Her stomach growled. Angry, she turned to leave when Damian’s door opened. He was dressed again all in black, a color that should have minimized his size but just amplified how ripped he was beneath the clothing.
“You need something?” he asked with a casualness that pissed her off, as if he didn’t know why she was there.
“No.”
“Alrighty then.” He closed his door. He was messing with her—he knew she was hungry!
He promised! She sighed and knocked. He answered.
“You need something?”
“Yes,” she grated. “I do.”
He pushed the door open. She entered and saw car keys on the table near the door.
“Are you going to town?”
“Yep.”
Bet he’s got a girl in town.
“Figures,” she muttered.
“Pardon?” he asked, looking up from the wallet he rifled through.
“Nothing.”
“You finish your thoughts out loud pretty often.”
“Bad habit,” she said.
Maybe I do, he said into her mind.
“That is not cool,” she told him.
“The girl or the ability to read minds?”
She gritted her teeth and turned to go, trying not to think of how jealous the idea of another woman made her.
“There’s no girl,” he called after her. “You can stay.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were. Sit down.”
He was amused and she fumed, her emotions scattered by his mere presence.
I have no right to be jealous. If he has a woman, he has a woman.
“Sofia, stop thinking and sit down.” She obeyed, embarrassed. “There’s no woman, though I’m flattered.”
He sat beside her on the couch. The sight of the knife in her hand still made her squeamish.
“I keep trying to entice you, but you seem immune to me,” he teased. “No other woman has been able to resist me. It’s fascinating.”
“I appreciate you trying to make me feel less nervous, but you shouldn’t lie to me,” she snapped.
“I can have any woman I want. I wouldn’t bother with you if I didn’t want you.”
The edge of arrogance surprised her. She looked at him. His look was intent, the gold of his irises swirling.
“Let’s get this over with, so you don’t miss your hot date,” she said coolly.
He lifted her chin with one finger. His lips brushed hers, and she felt something within her melt at the simple touch. Hunger for him—not just his blood—roared through her. He kissed her gently, tasting her, savoring her. At his prodding, she opened her mouth. His mouth was hot, his flavor as addictive as his blood. He nipped at her lips, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. He pressed her back against the couch, and she yielded, her hands touching his face, his soft hair, his neck. Touching him sent warm energy racing through her blood. Maybe he had a harem of women at his beck and call, but she couldn’t see herself with any other man. Ever.
“You believe me now?” he whispered against her lips, pulling away.
She sighed in response.
“The offer’s always open,” he assured her. “Now drink.”
He placed his bloodied wrist to her mouth. She closed her eyes, body on fire as she drank from him while imagining what his mouth could do to the rest of her body. When she was sated, she pushed his arm away. He had turned away again and was chewing his knuckle.
“Why do you do that?” she asked, embarrassed when her voice came out husky. “Are you in pain?”
“Not the kind you’d understand.”
“What do you mean not the kind I’d understand?” she persisted, standing. “I don’t want to hurt you, Damian.”
His eyes were closed. He gave a husky laugh at her words. “I mean, when you do that, I want to fuck you, and if you don’t leave like, NOW, I’m gonna drag you into my bed and—”
She ran before he finished, emotions roiling and high off the kiss and his blood. Though she couldn’t see her own fate, she began to suspect which direction it’d take her in.
“Any day now!” he shouted as he passed her room to leave.
***
She stood in a dark, cold place, gazing at the hunched form in the corner. She couldn’t tell if he was human or beast. While afraid, she knew whatever he was, he needed help. Her help.
Darian stirred, pushing himself farther into the corner. She approached and knelt a safe distance from him, trying hard to see into the darkness of the corner. She couldn’t make him out.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered.
“Free me.”
While his form was large enough to be a man the size of Damian’s Guardians, his voice was terrified and gravelly, as if he hadn’t ever spoken to anyone.
“Are you okay?” she asked, creeping forward.
He began to cry, the soul-deep weeping of a man who’d lost all and spent his tormented life in a level of hell she’d never be able to imagine. The sound made her gut twist and her chest tighten. Tears formed in her eyes at the heartbreaking sound of his pain. She moved closer and held out her hand. He reached for her, but his scarred hand passed through hers, as if all that remained of him was a ghost of the man he’d been. She made out the shape of the bottom of a tattoo on his bicep, what looked like a half-sun. The rest was shrouded in darkness.
Darian wouldn’t leave her alone. The scene played over and over in her thoughts, growing stronger until he was as vivid during daylight as he had been at night. She rubbed her temples and issued a challenging glare to the contents of the pantry, furious once more she could eat none of the wonderful things it held.
“Gods. She does this a few times a day. She can’t eat food, but she refuses to admit it to herself,” Han explained to Pierre. “Since you’ll be her new—”
“Babysitter,” she interjected.
“Exactly. You’ll be holding her hair for her in the bathroom several times a day.”
“She cannot eat?” Pierre asked with a frown.
“No. She’s blood bound.”
Pierre’s look turned from disappointed to approving.
“Bien.”
“I want real food,” Sofia said with a sigh. Damian hadn’t returned the night before after their last interaction. She wondered again whether or not he had a harem elsewhere. That thought coupled with her nightmare made her even angrier at not being able to eat.
“Go eat,” Han grumbled.
“No.”
“Fine. Let him sleep. He had a rough night anyway. I know you’re mad at him and thought you’d like to pester him.”
“Why was his night rough?”
“He had a run-in with a whole bunch of Czerno’s goons.”
Concerned, Sofia turned to face him. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. Cranky.”
“Then I definitely don’t want to see him,” she said, eyes going to the ceiling.
He’ll be too sleepy to tempt me. If he doesn’t refuse me because he’s tired.
He promised.
She returned her gaze to the Pop-Tarts.
“Damn you all,” she muttered and closed the pantry.
“Go. Eat.”
She didn’t acknowledge his order but headed toward the stairs. Her daily debate about drinking blood made her pace in front of Damian’s room until he wrenched the door open and stared at her, bleary-eyed and bare-chested.
“Either come in, or go think somewhere else!” he snapped.
“Good morning, sunshine!” she said with false cheerfulness.
He muttered a curse and flung his door open. She smiled, pleased to see him as pissy as she felt. It was his turn to be ticked at the world—she was sick of being alone and angry. She closed the door behind her.
“Han said you were out doing battle last night,” she said, noticing the shredded T-shirt on the floor.
“This world is so fucked up I don’t know why I bother.” He flung himself back into bed. Irritated, Sofia pulled open the curtains to his windows overlooking the bed.
“Sofia!” he snarled, burying his head under a pillow.
“You promised,” she reminded him, enjoying his misery. “The kitchen is always open.”
He flung out an arm.
“I’m not going to cut you,” she objected.
“Then you’re not going to eat.”
“Fine. Your precious Oracle will just starve to death,” she snapped and started toward the door.
“Stop!”
She turned to see him pull a knife from under his pillow. He rolled onto his side.
“C’mere.”
“Did you win your battle last night?” she asked as unease swept through her again.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
She waited at the edge of the bed. He sliced his forearm and tucked the knife beneath his pillow once more, closing his eyes.
“Are you going to get up?” she asked.
“No.”
The sight of him in bed made her blood surge. His head remained shoved under a pillow, and his body relaxed, as if he were falling back asleep. Turned on and starving, she gingerly crawled across the bed and settled beside him on her belly, pausing guiltily before lapping up the bubbles of blood. She drank until full.
“Thank you, Damian,” she whispered and placed a small kiss on his elbow.
His other hand snaked out and rolled her onto her side beside him. He looped one leg across her hips so she couldn’t move.
“Damian—” she protested.
“Hush.”
The curtains closed at his silent command, and she lay still, waiting for him to make some move on her. He tucked her against him and fell asleep. The sense of peace descended upon her again, and she relaxed against him, content to her soul to be surrounded by his scent and heat.