I didn’t give him the pleasure of a reaction. “You sent Dahlia to kill me?”
Rage contorted his face. “What?”
“I’m sorry, did I stutter? She tried to kill me. And I don’t appreciate it.”
His frown deepened, this time in confusion. “If she’d tried to kill you, you’d be dead by now. She’s very good at what she does.”
“Well, she missed.” I stood and crossed to the floor-length windows. The curtains were not yet drawn, so he wasn’t concerned about daylight any time soon. I’d never actually watched a sunrise, so I had no idea how long they took. Or, more important, at what point it would kill me. I’ve got to get back to Nathan.
“Ah, you’ve met Mr.—what is he going by these days? Grant?”
I silently cursed myself. I hadn’t meant to think of him in Cyrus’s presence.
There was no point in lying. “Yes.”
“And I presume he’s told you about our past…involvement?” Cyrus fought to control his anger as he spoke, but I still felt it through the blood tie. “No wonder you’re on this…pro-human bent.”
I held firm, despite the volatile emotions invading my mind. “He told me he was sent to execute you. He told me you have the same blood.”
“We do. I didn’t sire him, but I was there when my sire turned him. We’re hardly on brotherly terms now.” Cyrus stood and paced the room. “So Nolen is dead, is he? I’m glad to hear it, even if I didn’t do it myself.”
Nolen? “He’s not dead. But I need Dahlia to reverse whatever she did to him.”
Cyrus laughed as though I’d told a clever joke. He pulled two cigars out of a mahogany humidor and offered one to me. I refused. “I want him dead, Carrie. Why on earth would I help him?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” My reply sounded embarrassingly weak to my ears.
“But, Carrie, didn’t you just accuse me of killing for pleasure?” He lit the cigar and took a few puffs.
I tried not to gag as the sickly sweet smoke assailed my nostrils. “Change my opinion. Give me Dahlia.”
He moved toward me. I sensed what he was about to do and braced myself.
He reached out too fast for me to step aside, his cigar dropping to the expensive carpet. One arm wound around my waist and brought me up tight against his chest. He pulled my hair, jerking my head back sharply.
“I want to make something clear so we don’t have any further misunderstandings. I don’t care what your opinion of me is. At the end of the day, it’s still my blood in your veins. I own you.”
“No!” My instincts told me to get free, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I feared him.
He leaned forward, nuzzling my throat with his lips. The cigar still burned at our feet. It gave me something to focus on besides the feeling of his tongue against my skin.
“Your carpet is going to catch fire.”
I stepped back, and to my surprise, he let me go. I didn’t know if I’d have had the will to fight him. Without even looking at it, he ground out the cigar with the ball of his bare foot.
Swallowing hard, I looked him in the eye. “If you let Nathan die, the Movement will send someone else, someone stronger. They’ll hunt you down like a dog. And I don’t want that to happen.”
“Don’t you?” A menacing joy spread across his face. It did nothing to calm my nerves.
“No, I don’t.” My mouth went suddenly dry at the realization I meant what I said. “You’re my sire.”
He shrugged as if it were out of his hands. “Well, we can’t have Nolen coming after me. You saw what he managed the last time. And I don’t like fighting. It’s ungentlemanly. Can you think of anything that could entice me to take such an ugly risk?”
Of course I could. I just didn’t want to offer it to him. “Just say it, Cyrus.”
He closed his eyes as if savoring a delicious meal. “I love the sound of my name on your lips. It’s like music.”
“I don’t have time for this, just say it!” My vehemence startled me.
He clucked his tongue. “You have no appreciation for the dramatic. Fine. Promise you’ll return to me, to stay, and I will help your precious ‘Nathan.’”
I stuck out my hand in an attempt to appear confident. Instead of shaking it, he drew my fingers to his mouth and kissed the tip of each one. He might as well have set my hand on fire, for the scorching feeling that raced down my arm.
“Then it’s settled.” He strode to the doors and threw them open. “Dahlia!” His enraged call echoed through the dark foyer. Within moments, the room beyond the door flooded with light.
“You wanted me?” I heard her purr over the click of shoes on the marble floor. Then she screamed.
His hand tightly gripping her red curls, Cyrus yanked Dahlia into the room. She was dressed much the same as she had been the night I’d met her, in a tight black shirt and long skirt. The only difference I saw now was an abundance of jewelry, rings and necklaces all bearing silver pentagrams. Cyrus threw her to the floor, and she scrambled away as he kicked at her.
Normally I would have turned my head from such violence, but it was hard to feel pity for her after what she’d done. Especially since she’d intended to kill me.
She didn’t beg for mercy when he grabbed her again and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. His face changed and he bared his fangs.
Dahlia didn’t recoil, but I did. That face summoned the memory of glass piercing my skull, the slippery pools of human organs under my knees, and the sensation of being powerless in the grasp of a killer. I covered my mouth to stifle a gasp.
Cyrus’s eyes flickered over my face for an instant. His grotesque face actually registered some emotion then, and I thought it was regret. He didn’t like that he’d scared me.
He dropped Dahlia and let his features shift back to normal. “You tried to kill her!”
Now she did whimper, as though she knew her lies would prove useless. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? You’re lucky this turned out so well for me, you sniveling bitch. Else I’d hand you over to the Fangs when they arrive.” He stalked a circle around her as he spoke.
“No!” She reached for him, clinging to his leg. “I killed that bookstore guy for you! You should be happy.”
He pulled away from her grasp as if he’d been touched by a leper. “You’re not allowed to kill whenever you please! How can you expect me to turn you when you have no self-control?”
Her face paled. “What do you want me to do? I’ll do whatever I have to. Just tell me what you want me to do!”
Cyrus rocked back on his heels, feigning consideration. “If there was a way to reverse what you did to him, what would it take?”
“An antidote,” she said as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“And where would I find this antidote?” he asked patiently.
Tears shone on her face. “In my room.”
“Why don’t you go and get it, then?” He dismissed her as easily as telling a child to run along and play.
“Thank you,” I whispered when she had gone.
“This is not a gift, Carrie. Don’t mistake it as such.”
“It’s