The Turning-Blood Ties 1 (19 page)

He slapped her across the face. The sound of the impact made me wince. Leaning down, he grasped her chin in his hand and twisted her neck at an uncomfortable angle so she was forced to look up at him. “What did you call me?”

Fresh tears rolled down her face, mixing with the smeared blood from her hands and the layers of makeup that coated her face.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” She choked on her words. “Master.”

He shoved her away and dusted his hands together as though he’d touched something dirty and unpleasant. He signaled to the guard. “Take her and get her bandaged up. Then lock her in her room.”

He turned to me as the guard led Dahlia away. His beleaguered expression morphed to one of pure joy as he looked me over.

Fidgeting beneath his hot stare, I laughed nervously. “I hope you don’t expect me to call you Master, because you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

Stepping behind me, he laid his hands on my shoulders. I could smell Dahlia’s blood on them. “You might surprise yourself yet, Carrie. I can make you do things you’ve never imagined.”

It’s the blood tie, I reminded myself as a wave of pleasure buckled my knees. He doesn’t have any real control over you. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails slashed my palms. He pulled me back, slipping his hands beneath my shirt. His skin was warm, as though he’d just fed.

“Don’t I?” The phantom desire that assaulted me was replaced by a hot, electric shiver as his fingers dipped into the cups of my bra. He snickered at my soft moan. “I’m not using the blood tie now, Carrie.”

I writhed away, though my flesh cried out to be touched. “Let’s get something straight. I came here to make good on a bargain. This, you touching me, wasn’t in the terms of our agreement.”

“I bet I’ll change your mind before long,” he said with a smirk. “In the meantime, let me show you around.”

I adjusted the bag on my shoulder.

“I can have your things taken to your room,” he told me.

“I’d rather keep them with me, if it’s all the same.”

“As you wish.” His tone was gentle, but he obviously didn’t take well to not getting his way.

We attracted a few curious stares as we walked through the foyer. Cyrus didn’t acknowledge the group of vampires as he leaned over to whisper in my ear. “The Fangs,”

he explained. “They’re a motorcycle club from Nevada. They’ve had some trouble with the Movement there and sought safe haven with me. Hence the appalling sofa in the foyer and the intolerable stench of, what are the kids calling it these days? Reefer?”

“Yeah, about fifty years ago.” I sniffed the air. “It reminds me of college. You ever try it?”

His deep, rich laugh echoed off the polished marble floors. “Carrie, do I look like someone who’d indulge in such a filthy habit? I prefer more elegant intoxicants.”

We entered a corridor. Long windows cast silvery squares of moonlight on the floor. Through the darkness I saw a painting on the wall that depicted the grim shape of a giant

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clutching a headless corpse.

“Is that…Goya?” While his subjects were gory, an original work by Goya was priceless. With a house like this, his decadent clothing, and round-the-clock security, I supposed I could have wound up with a worse sire. Remembering that Nathan was probably at that moment rooting through the ashes of his ruined shop, I instantly regretted the thought.

“You know your art, Doctor. Very good.” Cyrus let out a melancholy sigh. “It’s only a copy. The real one hangs in the Prado, despite my numerous attempts to purchase it.”

“Well, it’s a really good copy.” I reached out to touch the surface of the painting, and he caught my wrist with an apologetic smile.

“Please, don’t touch. A number of years ago, I had a pet of exceptional talent. He’s also responsible for the bacchanalian orgy depicted on the walls of my bedroom.” His thumb stroked the nearly translucent flesh beneath the cuff of my sleeve, sending a shiver up my arm. “Perhaps you’d like to see that next?”

I jerked my arm away. “Let’s not press our luck, now.”

He chuckled and slipped his arm through mine. “This way.”

At the end of the hallway were large double doors. They opened to the ballroom I’d seen on my first visit, though we entered on a different side. The room had been converted into a makeshift garage, with rows of motorcycles parked on sheets of canvas laid out to protect the floor. Cyrus viewed the objects with some distaste. “I’ll never understand the compulsion some people have to drive themselves anywhere.”

“Had chauffeurs all your life, huh?” I asked, running my hand across the chrome tank of a motorcycle.

“Not quite. I was born six hundred years before the advent of the modern automobile.”

“Six hundred—” I swallowed noisily. “So you were alive during the age of knights and armor and all that crap?”

“Yes, Carrie, all that crap.” I thought I saw him roll his eyes, but he didn’t make any further comment. Instead, he led me quickly through the room. The dining room had been rearranged to accommodate a larger number of people and reminded me of a great hall from a medieval movie. I followed him to the kitchen where the huge, industrial stoves were cold. Pots and pans hung gleaming from the ceiling. The only person present in the room was the elderly black butler, who watched us intently as we entered.

“How can you afford all this?” I asked as we passed through the room.

“Good evening, Clarence,” Cyrus tossed off casually, as though he didn’t notice the man’s apparent animosity. Cyrus turned to me and replied, “I’ve killed some very wealthy people in my time, and invested the profit wisely. Your room will be in the family quarters, of course,” Cyrus explained as we climbed the back staircase, “but we’ll go through the servants’ area first so you’ll know where everything is.”

The servants’ quarters were made up of two narrow hallways that were crammed with small rooms. A few of the Fangs roamed the hall. I heard the buzz of a tattoo needle from somewhere.

“They’re leaving for Canada in a couple of weeks,” Cyrus whispered, a tight smile pasted on for the benefit of his guests. He spoke through clenched teeth. “I can’t say I’ll be sorry to see them go.”

“Why do you let them stay here, then?” I asked as we strode past a few of them.

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He shrugged. “They’re anti-Movement. I’m anti-Movement. We have to stick together. When the Movement falls, and it will, I’d like to be poised for a leadership position. It helps to grease the wheels now.”

The second hallway was guarded by sentries armed with wooden stakes. I thought we’d breeze past them as we had all the household staff so far, but Cyrus stopped. “Gentlemen, this is Dr. Ames. I’m granting her full privilege to the cattle, any time she wishes. Please pass the word along.”

“Yes, sir,” the guards said in unison as they stepped aside to admit us.

“Cattle?” I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Pets, if you prefer. They’re humans that live here so I, and my guests, can feed.”

Most of the rooms we walked by had their doors closed. The few rooms with opened doors were unoccupied, with two small beds in each with a nightstand between them. Dark squares stood out on the faded wallpaper, as though posters or other decorations had hung there and were only recently taken down.

A door opened, and a skinny, pale girl with dark rings beneath her eyes exited. She smiled nervously at Cyrus, and kept glancing at me as she spoke. “Hello, Master.”

“Good evening. Amy, is it?” He reached for her, taking her chin in his hand to tilt her head to the side. Faded fang marks stood out against the thin skin.

“Cami.” Her voice was barely audible as his fingers curled around the back of her thin neck.

“Oh, yes. Cami. I’m sorry. So many names to remember lately,” he said, more to me than to her. “Cami, dear, how long has it been since I’ve sent for you?”

“A week.” She looked down at her hands. “Was I…was I bad at it?”

I wanted to shrink into the wall, to become completely invisible and spare her the embarrassment of this conversation, but she didn’t seem to care that I was there at all.

“No, no. I’ve just been terribly busy with…other things.” As he spoke, Cyrus discreetly laced his fingers with mine, pulling me into his memory. My vision clouded, and I stared down into Cami’s terrified face from Cyrus’s eyes. She struggled not to cry as he moved inside her. My stomach turned at the feeling of her young limbs and barely matured body beneath his. I pulled my hand away. Suddenly out of Cyrus’s thoughts, I returned to the present and saw Cami’s face show the tentative beginning of a hopeful smile. “Today?”

“That is, unless you’d feel slighted?” Cyrus asked me with a rueful grin. His voice invaded my head. If you refuse me, I’ll take her to my bed in the morning and she won’t live to the next sunset.

The girl looked at me with something akin to jealousy and despair. I had no doubt Cyrus would make good on his threat. I leaned close to his side. I managed, “It’s my first night here. Wouldn’t you rather spend it with me?” Concentrating as hard as I could, I silently added, You dick.

A low laugh rumbled from his throat, and he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“I’m sorry, Cami, the doctor has spoken. Perhaps you’ll find company with one of my guests?”

She paled further, her eyes filling with tears. “Will they hurt me?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t allow it.” He patted her on the head. “Run along now, I have to show Dr. Ames the rest of the mansion.”

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We exited the hallway and entered a small sitting room. I glanced at the railing to one side and realized we were directly above the foyer. I heard the good-natured shouting of the Fangs below.

“You pervert,” I said as soon as the door closed behind us. “She’s only a little girl.”

“She’s fifteen. Just a year younger than my first wife.”

“This isn’t the Dark Ages anymore,” I seethed. “There are rules.”

“I find there is something beautiful in the forbidden.”

“Beautiful?” I thought of the memory Cyrus had shown me, the way her knuckles had turned white as she’d gripped the bedsheets. “What about her parents? Her family?

They’re out there somewhere, looking for her, and you’re planning to kill her?”

“She’s a runaway, Carrie. Nearly all of my pets are. Now, if they don’t suit you, I wouldn’t miss a few of my guards as long as you’re discreet about it.”

“I’m not going to kill for blood. I want a willing donor.”

“The cattle are willing,” he said, pointing in the direction we’d just come from.

“Willing to die?”

He nodded. “Willing to endure a little bit of discomfort for what I give them. I kill them eventually, but for a few days, maybe even weeks, they feel like they belong. Like someone wants them. Surely you know how precious that can be.”

I did. As a child, I’d worked hard to be the best, the smartest, the most accomplished in the hopes my parents would take notice. I’d savored every word of their praise like ambrosia. I knew what poor Cami had been looking for. She’d prostituted herself for love, or at least, a shadow of it. She would never know the difference. I was infinitely thankful that no one like Cyrus had come along when I was fifteen. I would have been easy prey. I still was. I felt a gentle probing at the edges of my thoughts and pushed away the taloned hand that rested on my arm. “Stop it.”

We began to walk again, toward a heavily guarded wing I assumed contained his room, and mine. I stopped and waited until he realized I didn’t follow.

“I’m not going to sleep with you. I only agreed to spend the day with you so you wouldn’t kill her.”

“I know. And I won’t. Today. Let me show you to your room.”

The hallway was considerably wider than those in the servants’ wing, though only two rooms appeared to open onto it. At the end, another set of bodyguards were stationed at double doors, but we stood at the only other entrance.

“Here we are,” Cyrus said, leaning closer to me than was necessary to turn the knob. Ducking past him with a minimum of contact, I entered the room. The suite was larger than the whole of Nathan’s apartment. The first room was a parlor full of Edwardian furniture. A fire burned cheerfully in the oversize fireplace.

“If you don’t like the decor, it can be changed.” Cyrus walked slowly around the room.

“Dahlia’s tastes mirror my own somewhat, though I’ve never been able to stomach so much light blue.”

I had a ridiculous urge to thank him, but I pushed it aside. “This was Dahlia’s room?”

He lifted what looked like a Fabergé music box from a plant stand by the window, frowning. “Yes. For a while, anyway.”

I dropped my bag and removed my coat, draping it over the back of the settee. “Why’d you kick her out?”

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“Truthfully? I didn’t like having her so close. The jealous witch monitored all my activities. It was a bit like being married again.” He wound the mechanism of the box and an unrecognizable tune began to play. “Let me show you something.”

He walked to the small corner hutch and slightly pulled on one of the shelves. The whole thing swung forward with ease. “This leads to my chambers.”

I stared at the door as if it were ignited dynamite. “Any way we can wall that up?”

“I prefer to have unhindered access to you.” He closed the secret passage. “But I’m sure you understand why I’d want to keep Dahlia elsewhere. Under heavy guard.”

If I were him, I’d want to keep her in a different country. “She thinks you’re going to turn her.”

“Her power is beyond any I’ve ever seen.” He paused thoughtfully. “But I fear how she’d wield that power with a vampire’s strength behind it.”

I sniffed derisively. “Because you’re so moral.”

“Because I’m a realist.”