The Turning-Blood Ties 1 (21 page)

I almost apologized, but as I stared into his cold, mismatched eyes, I saw nothing to compel my forgiveness.

With a firm shove to the chair, he stomped over to the secret door, his open robe trailing behind him.

“What about my breakfast?” I called after him, a little emboldened after my staring-contest victory.

“I’ll have Clarence bring it,” he growled. “But after this, you’d better learn to drink from a human, like a real vampire. Your behavior is a reflection on me, and I won’t have anyone saying my blood is weak.”

After he’d gone, I went to the bedroom to change. As angry as he was, I didn’t think I’d see Cyrus again that night, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I dressed in clothes I found in the armoire instead of the ones Nathan had bought me. A black turtleneck and loose-fitting slacks were the closest items I could find to my preferred uniform of T-shirt and jeans.

Clarence brought my evening meal, a still-warm carafe of blood accompanied by a selection of fresh fruit, the B-movie version of a continental breakfast. I tried to make

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some cheerful conversation, but he only provided the minimum requirement of polite response. I eventually gave up and finished my meal in silence. When I ventured from my room, I found the Fangs were out in full force. Curiosity brought me to the ballroom, where a new row of bikes testified that more vampires had arrived. I expected some trouble from them, but nothing happened. On the contrary, the thugs saluted me with a fearful courtesy. I fully expected them to start bowing and genuflecting when they saw me.

The only person who seemed to want interaction with me was Dahlia. I discovered her lounging on one of the deserted sofas in the foyer, reading a magazine. She made a noise as I passed, presumably to get my attention. When I ignored her, she swept her hair back from her shoulder, revealing a fresh bite mark. She yawned loudly and stretched. “I am just so tired. But why shouldn’t I be? I was up all day.” She giggled and crossed her legs. Her already short skirt rode up, flashing a generous portion of white thigh. Fang marks scored her ample flesh there, as well.

“Do you think you’re making me jealous?” I asked. For some insane reason I was, but I’d eat raw cactus before I admitted it to her.

She shrugged. “No. I just feel sorry for you. Your first day here and he sends for someone else to spend his time with. It’s sad, really.”

“I can think of sadder things.” I dropped onto the sofa beside her and picked up a magazine from the stack at her side. “Ooh, hot spring beauty trends.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw her raise her hand. I clucked my tongue condescendingly. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He’d kill you if you harmed me.”

She snorted derisively. “Whatever. He thinks you’re pathetic.”

Though I doubted the validity of her statement, it called to mind Cyrus’s earlier angry slur. I dropped the magazine and shifted to face her. “More pathetic than a vampire groupie hanging on to her last scrap of hope?”

Dahlia didn’t rise to the bait this time. “If I were you, I would seriously avoid pissing him off. He owns you. He can make your life hell.”

“I don’t think I can avoid pissing him off.” Quieter, I added, “Not if it means being like him.”

With a sigh of obvious contempt, she tore her attention away from a page detailing the best cut of jeans for different body types. “Yeah, and what is he like?”

“What do you mean?” The realization we were having an actual conversation struck me as odd, but Dahlia seemed unperturbed by it.

“What is he like?” she repeated. “I mean, since you’ve taken the time to get to know him and all.”

Ouch. She had a good point. I didn’t know Cyrus. At least, not as well as she did. I tried to imagine what it would be like if I were in her shoes. She clearly had some affection for him, to stay after all the violence I’d seen him inflict on her. I cleared my throat. “I suppose I meant evil. I don’t want to be evil.”

She rolled her eyes, not bothering to cover her impatience with me. “News flash, not everything is good or evil.”

“I don’t follow.”

She tossed her magazine aside and twisted her body toward me, pulling one meaty leg up

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on the couch in a very lewd manner. “Okay, let’s pretend there was a tornado, and it destroyed like, half the town. That’s bad, right?”

I wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this analogy, but I nodded in agreement.

“So since the tornado did something bad, by your logic, it’s evil?”

“I wouldn’t call a tornado evil, no.”

“Why?” she asked in a way that suggested she knew what my answer would be.

“Because it’s just a tornado. It’s part of nature.”

“Just like vampires are a part of nature.” She didn’t seem very pleased to prove her point, but more annoyed at having lost precious seconds of her life teaching me. “Some things aren’t good or evil. Some things just…are.”

With that, she stood and gathered her magazines. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather drive nails through my eyeballs than have to sit here and play nice with you anymore.”

“Well, fuck you, too,” I said under my breath as she charged up the stairs. So we weren’t bound to become Best Friends Forever, but at least she could talk to me without trying to kill me. And to be honest, if she got so sick of being polite that she did drive nails into her eyes, well, that would be a bonus. I looked to the magazine in my lap, the one Dahlia hadn’t bothered to collect on her way out. Beauty magazines didn’t usually appeal to me, but I didn’t usually have so much time on my hands, either. I flipped to an article about the bacterial hazards of tanning beds and assured my horrified brain that it was medical research. I’d only read the first paragraph when the study doors burst open, admitting the sounds of male exertion and clashing steel. Cyrus glided into the room dressed in tight black leather pants and a billowy white shirt that was unbuttoned to the waist. His long hair was pulled back and he carried a fencing foil. All he needed to complete the ensemble was an eye patch and parrot. I tried not to laugh as the image formed in my brain. Wiping droplets of bloody sweat from his brow, he tossed the foil to the guard that followed him. I pretended to be too interested in my magazine to notice their presence. Cyrus sat next to me with an exhausted sigh as he tugged the black leather gloves from his fingers. “Good evening, Carrie.”

“Ahoy, matey. Going sailing?” Although I was still mindful of his sudden change in temper earlier in the evening, I couldn’t help but push it a little. That was my nature. He put his arm around me, a gesture so familiar and strong that I had to force myself to pull away. He paid no mind to my reaction. “I was just brushing up on my defense. Roger is a wonderful fencer, aren’t you, Roger?”

The guard nodded sharply. “It’s Robert, sir. And yes, I am.”

I didn’t engage myself in the conversation and flipped a few pages in the magazine. Cyrus leaned in close under the pretense of reading over my shoulder. “That’s quite an interesting look. I’ve never cared for women with too much eye makeup, but it certainly would look striking on you.”

“I’ll have to remember that in case I ever feel compelled to impress you.”

Despite my best efforts, I felt my body react to the pull of the blood tie. Everything about him seemed appealing, pirate shirt aside. He smelled wonderful. He felt even better pressed to my side. Then I thought of him with Dahlia. He’d been doing God knew what with her all day, slipping away periodically to “check” on me. I wasn’t hurt by his unfaithfulness, and rather surprised myself for expecting fidelity in the first place.

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I flipped another page, hoping to cover my emotions with sarcasm. “Captain Hook called. He wants his shirt back.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re angry with me.”

There was no denying it. He could feel it through the blood tie. “Yeah, actually, I kind of am.”

“Because of our fight?” He circled his arm around my shoulders again, holding me fast when I tried to shrug him off. “All couples fight. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Couple? “I was single last time I checked.”

He smiled and twisted a strand of my hair around his index finger. “Then why are you so upset that I spent time with Dahlia?”

I sniffed. “Am I that transparent?”

“It’s not hard to tell. Jealously is practically radiating off of you.” He put his hand on my knee. “You’re aware of the role Dahlia plays here.”

“Executive knob polisher?”

“That’s a rather crude way of putting it, but yes. There’s no need to feel threatened by her. You’re my blood.”

“How can I help but be threatened by her? She’s your favorite.” I pushed him away and got up.

He looked me up and down, not bothering to disguise his lustful stare. Turtleneck or not, I felt naked. I covered my face in frustration. “Never mind. You won’t understand. I hate being jealous and you aren’t even listening.”

“I am listening,” he insisted.

“No,” I said as I ran a hand over my hair. “I’m just being stupid. I’ve been trained since birth to be competitive and Dahlia brings out the worst in me. But you’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Let me make it up to you,” he suggested, standing to guide me back to the couch.

“How?” I’d expected him to pull me into his lap, but he sat a comfortable distance from me.

“Let me woo you. Give me a chance to show you how dear you are to me.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “How about dinner? We can get to know each other better.”

“I remember the last dinner date we had. I’m not interested in another postmortem.”

“No bodies, I promise,” he assured me with a smile. “For a doctor, you’re awfully squeamish.”

“It’s not about being squeamish. It’s about having an ounce of humanity left.” Every moment I spent with him faded my anger, like a photograph exposed to sunlight. I tried to find reasons to stay mad at him, but it was difficult when I was this close to him.

“Wouldn’t that make Dahlia jealous?”

“I don’t think she’s the only one who’s jealous.” He lifted his hand and cupped my chin, turning my face to his. “Dahlia is a momentary distraction. I’ll have you forever.”

Forever. For the first time since I’d made the bargain for Nathan’s life, I realized the ramifications of my promise. How long would I live? Cyrus had managed to stay alive for more than six hundred years. I’d fought the fiend lurking inside me for only a night, and I’d barely been able to stand it.

Perhaps my fall was inevitable.

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Gently, Cyrus pressed his cold mouth to mine. I didn’t resist. But not because I didn’t have the willpower or because the blood tie was manipulating my response. I kissed him back because I wanted to prove to him, and myself, that he made me feel nothing. That I was still in control.

It didn’t quite work out that way. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him pull me closer. I sensed his surprise, but when he drew back he smiled as though he’d won a great battle. “Now, that wasn’t so terrible.”

It wasn’t. He leaned in for another when I heard the forgotten guard clear his throat. Annoyance danced across my sire’s face, but he quickly covered it with a smile as he stood and straightened his shirt. “Roger, what would you say to another match?”

“Robert, sir. I would be honored.” The guard tossed him his foil. Cyrus caught it and gracefully took up a ready stance. “Dinner, in my chambers, 5:00

a.m.,” he instructed me. “Please be on time.” With that, he and the guard parried and thrusted their way out of the room.

I closed my eyes. It would have been all too easy to blame my submission on the blood tie, but I couldn’t lie to myself. There was a magnetism about him that had nothing to do with his being a vampire. Despite the horrible way he’d treated me this morning, for a moment he’d made me believe he cared for me as something more than a possession. It was the most dangerous tactic he’d employed in this battle so far.
Twelve

A Gift

W ith 5:00 a.m. fast approaching, I paced my bedroom floor in complete indecision as to what I should wear. A chastity belt would have been nice, but he hadn’t included that item in my new wardrobe.

The absence of modern noise in our wing of the house, which had at first been pleasant, was beginning to drive me batty. I didn’t relish the idea of hanging with the Fangs to listen to the radio, but the idea grew more appealing with each passing hour. I hoped to negotiate a TV in my room if I played my cards right. After the tedious night I’d had, the idea of prostituting myself for my cable fix didn’t seem as wrong as it should. I had almost settled on a plain black skirt to go with the turtleneck I wore when there was a soft knock at my door. Before I could open it, Clarence entered. He bore a plastic garment bag, which he dumped without a word on the bed.

“What’s this?” I asked after him as he left the room.

“Read the card” was his only reply before I heard the outer door click shut.

“Thanks for your help,” I muttered, looking down at the bag. A small envelope rested atop it. I slid the card out and read the elegant script. I hope the gown is to your liking. It would please me greatly if you wore it this evening. Clarence will come to retrieve you at five o’clock. Bracing myself for what I might find inside, I unzipped the bag. The dress wasn’t what I had expected—though my expectations weren’t terribly specific. Lifting the length of blush-colored satin, I grudgingly admitted Cyrus had good taste. I would normally feel a little silly for being so overdressed, but I liked what I saw when I slipped into the gown and looked myself over in the mirror. The color complimented my blond hair, and though my skin had paled since I’d turned, it wasn’t as obvious against