The Turning-Blood Ties 1 (26 page)

“I didn’t feed enough. I didn’t want to anger you,” he said, supporting himself on the heavy wooden arm of the sofa. “As you get older, you’ll find you need more blood to function. It makes life rather difficult if you have to go a day or two without feeding.”

I shifted into doctor mode. “If you don’t feed, will you die?”

“Not right away.” He eased onto the couch and patted the seat beside him. “But it’s very uncomfortable after a while.”

I joined him, fitting familiarly to his side. “How many days has it been for you?”

“The last time I drank my fill was the night we first met.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ve been a bit distracted since.”

And he hadn’t fed tonight because of what I’d uncovered as I’d snooped through his brain. To assuage my guilt, I changed the topic. “You were going to tell me about the NewYear.”

“Oh, yes. A fitting topic, actually. You remember what I told you about my father?”

I nodded. How could I have forgotten?

Cyrus seemed to draw strength from talking about his father. “Though he hasn’t been a vampire much longer than I have, the blood of the elders he drained seems to have sped up his—blast, what’s the word for it?”

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“Metabolism?” I supplied.

“Yes, exactly. Within fifty years of turning, he needed to feed from two, sometimes three bodies a night. It was too hard to keep his identity concealed for long. We moved from village to village, but suspicion followed us everywhere. Father discovered that if he ingested vampire blood, his hunger was sated longer.

“For a while, it was easy. I would turn them, and Father would feed from them. We left them with enough blood to live, but we didn’t provide them with the guidance they needed to survive. We didn’t expect so many of them to last as long as they did.”

Clarence entered without knocking, but Cyrus didn’t acknowledge him. “Carrie, would you be so kind?”

I poured him a glass from the decanter Clarence handed me, then returned to the couch.

“If your father kept making vampires, there would be a lot more of them by now. What stopped him?”

Cyrus didn’t answer until he’d gulped down the first glass and handed it back to Clarence for a refill. “Fear, I suppose. My father was a brave man, but he wasn’t stupid. I think he knew that someday, one of his fledglings would do to him what he’d done to his sire.

“Now my father feeds only once a year. In the meantime, he goes into a sort of hibernation. The day will come when he can walk the earth again, but until then, I serve him at the NewYear.”

“Walk the earth again? What does that mean?” All this information overwhelmed me.

“Where does he live?”

With a knowing smile, he waved his index finger at me. “It’s a heavily guarded secret. For the time being, all we need to do is make sure Father is fed every year.”

“Cyrus, that doesn’t make sense. You’re weak after a few days without feeding. If your father’s metabolism has accelerated beyond that, how can he survive drinking blood only once a year?”

“Oh, he doesn’t just drink their blood.” A cruel spark of the Cyrus I recognized returned to his eyes. The blood he’d consumed flushed his cheeks. “He takes their very essence. Carrie, my father is the vampire other vampires fear most. My father is the Soul Eater.”

Fifteen

Consummation

C yrus’s proclamation shook me to the core. Once I was sure he’d fully recovered from his fast, I left him alone to finish his reading or whatever the hell he did when he was locked away in his study.

The Soul Eater. Though I’d never heard the name, it struck fear into my heart. Cyrus had given me a brief rundown of the New Year’s festivities. They’d picked January thirtieth because of its proximity to Bride’s Day, an ancient Celtic holiday celebrating the young Sun God’s courtship of the Virgin Goddess.

“It’s all about innocence,” Cyrus had said smugly. “The point of the New Year’s festivities is to choose someone with a pure soul and turn them. When Father kills them, instead of a frothy afterlife of clouds and harps, their souls have nowhere to go. Father collects those souls, and they sustain him for another year.”

What would it be like to be forever trapped in another person’s body? I prayed I’d never find out. I had yet another incentive to stay on Cyrus’s good side. Not that staying on his

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good side would be any trouble after sunup, if his enthusiasm of the night before was any indication. I tried, and failed, to keep my hormones in check as dawn drew closer. It was 6:00 a.m. when I finally decided to go to him. My senses were so attuned to his that I knew I’d find him in his bedroom. Occasionally, a thrum of anticipation shivered through the blood tie, but I couldn’t tell if it was from his or my own desire. I didn’t change or put on any makeup. I didn’t want to appear too eager. When I was stripped of my clothing, a cool facade was the only armor I’d have left. Cyrus’s room was much different tonight than it had been on my previous visit. The sitting room was dark and cold. No fire had been lit. Cyrus was nowhere to be seen, but the door to his bedroom stood slightly open, and warm, flickering candlelight spilled out. If I’d had any illusions about my purpose for being there, I would have been put abruptly in my place. Still, a gentle seduction would have been nice. No one likes to know they’re a sure thing.

My heart pounding, from trepidation or anticipation I didn’t know, I pushed the door wide.

The canopied bed, cream-colored furnishings and wrought-iron accents all appeared the same. I noted with relief that no heavily sedated pet lay on the bed. The bedclothes were turned down, and black rose petals had been sprinkled liberally over the ivory duvet. Apparently tonight was all about me. I would have been more convinced if he’d bothered to acknowledge me when I entered.

Cyrus sat at his small writing desk beside the window, head bent in concentration. His hair was tied back and he wore his black silk robe. He was so absorbed in his task that I had to clear my throat to get him to look at me.

He didn’t lift his face, but I heard the smile in his voice. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Carrie. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“You make it sound like we’re about to close on a house.” Was that my voice, tight and nervous as it scraped from my throat?

“In a way, we are closing a type of deal. Doesn’t this officially buy your little friend’s life?” Unadulterated excitement radiated through the blood tie. There was no tenderness from him, only dark, perverse lust. The intensity of it should have frightened me, but his desire overrode my fear and left me trembling in its wake. I watched him fold the sheet of paper and noticed his hands shook. He was struggling for self-control, I realized. In a purely antagonistic gesture, I conjured a vivid picture of us in my mind, of myself naked, on my hands and knees as he pushed into me from behind, head thrown back in pleasure.

He hissed as the image materialized in his brain, and his back straightened. I heard him take a few deep breaths before he stood. “You have a very creative imagination, Carrie.”

With the deadly smile of an advancing predator, he moved toward me. His robe, open to the waist as usual, slithered against him like living skin in the candlelight. “Don’t you think this would have been more interesting?”

Blackness, then a crystal-clear vision invaded my mind. A girl, probably no more than sixteen, lay in the center of the huge bed. My hands pinned her arms to the bed and she screamed in terror as I sank my fangs into her neck. Cyrus captured her wildly struggling legs and parted them, thrusting into her as the spark of life drained from her eyes. I shook my head to be rid of the vision, only to see anger contort his handsome face.

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“Don’t ever forget whom you’re dealing with,” he warned, pulling me against him so I could feel his erection through the thin silk of his robe. “I am capable of things you couldn’t begin to comprehend.”

Just as suddenly as his sinister mood appeared, it faded. Kissing me on the cheek, he stepped back to look me over. He frowned as he took in my jeans and T-shirt. “I thought you’d wear something more…appropriate. Didn’t I buy you anything suitable for this occasion?”

He had. In the armoire were several revealing outfits, including a Catholic school girl costume that I’d stuffed far back in the drawer in disgust. I shrugged. “I assumed I wouldn’t be wearing much for long.”

His mouth quirked at my blunt words. “Very perceptive of you.”

He motioned to the mantel above the fireplace. Just as in the outer room, no fire burned.

“Would you like anything to drink?”

I eyed the green liquid in the crystal carafe and shook my head. The blood tie was intoxicating enough. I needed a clear head tonight. “No. I’d rather just—”

“Get it over with?” he finished for me, and I dared not reply. He trailed a fingernail down my neck and followed it with his tongue. The sensation sent stabs of desire racing south, and I felt myself becoming wet. No living man had ever pulled such a response from me. I couldn’t hold back my moan. His tongue teased the lobe of my ear, his breath stimulating the moistened flesh as he whispered, “You’re such a puzzling woman. This afternoon you were affectionate and caring. Now you hold back.”

He drew away and cupped the back of my head with his hand, forcing me to look him in the eyes. His missing eye was still hidden by the patch, but the one that remained stared hard into mine. “What am I to you, Carrie?”

Though his touch was gentle, I felt his true intent. He wanted to break me, to make me as shameless with lust for him as Dahlia and the other simpering pets in his harem. And from what I’d experienced so far, he was very good at what he did. I swallowed.

“You’re my sire.”

“Is that all I am?” There was a note of sadness in his tone, but I didn’t answer. He hadn’t been asking me.

He reached beneath my shirt and dragged his nails across my stomach. My breath hitched. Then he turned away. “Undress and come to bed.”

Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I could still feel his cold hands there. Cyrus moved to the bed, not once looking at me. He shrugged off the robe, revealing a body so white and firm it could have been chiseled from marble. My mouth went dry at the thought of him above me, filling me. I wanted to blame this new wave of longing on the blood tie, but I couldn’t. I wanted him. Maybe that was his first victory. But looking at Cyrus, the ripple of his muscles moving beneath tight skin, I wondered why I’d wanted to fight at all. There wasn’t much left for me outside these walls. I couldn’t go back to the hospital. I had no home, no friends, no family. Why should I run from the one person who truly wanted me?

I pulled my T-shirt over my head and stepped out of my jeans then climbed onto the foot of the bed and crawled toward him in nothing but my black satin bra and panties. His eye flashed in hungry recognition, and he pulled the covers aside to let me under.

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The linen sheets were crisp and cool and far too real against my skin. I was about to do something forbidden, to surrender fully to something I was all too aware was wrong. But it’s something you’ve chosen. You’re in control. How easily I could lie to myself. I was as far from control as California was from Connecticut. Even the touch of my hair as it brushed my back turned me on. Cyrus pulled me into his arms, his naked skin made somewhat warmer from desire. “You look better than I thought you would,” he practically purred as he swept a hand down my back and over the curve of my buttocks.

Goose bumps rose on my skin. “How did you think I’d look?”

He traced lazy circles over the rise of my spine as his hands moved over my back. “I don’t know. Perhaps harder, more manly. You always hide beneath such masculine clothes.”

I pushed against him, my breasts spilling over the cups of the bra as they pressed against his chest. He dipped his head and ran his tongue across the seam between the fabric and my flesh. “But not tonight.”

Sliding the straps down my arms, he leaned away, exposing my newly uncovered skin to the cold of the room. His eye darkened as he reached for the front clasp of my bra and released it.

I wanted nothing more than to yank the blankets up to my chin and hide from his severe evaluation, but he threw them aside so his view was entirely unobstructed. He said nothing, unsure of what I expected to hear. He took his time looking me up and down until I thought I’d scream just to break the tension. Slowly, deliberately, he glided a sharp fingernail from the hollow of my throat to the top of my panties. I arched my hips shamelessly, and he slid his finger beneath the satin, slicing the garment with his nail. Then he took the two halves of the fabric and ripped it completely away from my body.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been with one of our kind?” he whispered, lowering his head to nibble my stomach.

I didn’t particularly want to know about his past conquests, but I asked, anyway. “How long?”

“Over half a century.” He parted my legs, running the tips of his nails leisurely up and down the insides of my thighs. “Sex with humans doesn’t compare.”

With a flick of his wrist, he made a shallow cut just above my knee. I hissed at the pain of it, then moaned when he lifted my leg and closed his mouth over the blood that welled there.

When he withdrew, red smeared his lips. He leaned to kiss me, and I zealously sucked my own blood from his mouth. How strange that such a short time ago I’d feared the consumption of blood. Now I thought nothing of it.

“You taste as good as I remember,” he murmured against my cheek. His hand skimmed farther down my thigh, and he made another cut, this one deeper. My body burned as he slid down to lap at the new wound. His hair brushed against my aching sex, a cruel tease.