“Drugged.” Cyrus sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for me to join him. “They tend to gain strength when fighting for their lives, and I wanted tonight to be perfect.”
I stepped up cautiously, trying to cloak my thoughts from Cyrus while I frantically willed Ziggy not to show any sign of recognition.
Was it possible Cyrus didn’t know who this was? It would be unlike him not to gloat about his prize, especially after the way he’d acted this morning. But it made no sense for Ziggy to be in the mansion at all.
“Who is he?” I croaked, fervently praying Cyrus didn’t already know the answer.
To my immense relief, he yawned and reached up to unbind his hair. “I don’t know. Some runaway. He showed up here a few hours ago. Isn’t he breathtaking?”
The day before I wouldn’t have exactly agreed with that statement, but groomed and divested of his various piercings and odd metal jewelry, Ziggy recalled a Renaissance portrait of youthful, male beauty.
Hesitantly, I climbed onto the bed. “Why is he here?”
“For you to feed from, dearest,” Cyrus answered distractedly as he popped off his cuff links and shook out his sleeves.
“But he’s conscious.”
My mouth went a little dry as I watched Cyrus work the buttons of his shirt. “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? No fun drinking from a victim who can’t feel it. But you’ll have to hurry. The paralytic will wear off soon.”
I frowned. Paralyzing drugs were nothing to trifle with. Ziggy could die of suffocation if his lungs were affected. In the guise of lazily stroking his chest, I measured the rise and fall of the flesh beneath my hand. His respiration was labored, but not seriously. “He can’t be too paralyzed if he’s breathing.”
Cyrus reached for me over Ziggy’s body, tracing a line up my arm, over my shoulder, to my neck. He pulled me forward. I rose on my knees and braced my hands against the smooth, cold skin of his chest beneath his open shirt.
I heard Ziggy’s blood moving faster and faster through his veins between us. I remembered the rich taste of his blood and my stomach growled. Another hunger sprang to life in me, an ache that grew as Cyrus pushed my hair aside. He pressed his mouth to my neck, grazing his teeth over the surface.
“I should have bitten you that night,” he rasped, one hand moving to cup my breast. “I should have ripped your flesh with my teeth and fed from you, rather than flee like a coward. If only I could have silenced your screams so I could have taken my time.”
I moaned, dropping my head back to give him fuller access. Memories of the attack washed over me, some his, some my own. But now they were not horrific. Now, when I saw his hand twisted in my hair, saw myself kneeling and praying—had I prayed?—at his feet, the images were searing and erotic.
I reminded myself of the blood tie, of the control he had over me, but I didn’t care. This wouldn’t be something that happened to me. This would be something that I chose to do.
Ziggy groaned at our knees. Moving behind me, Cyrus eased me onto the bed so I lay beside the boy. With one arm draped over my waist, my sire leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Drink, Carrie.”
And God, how I wanted to. But it was Ziggy. “If I do, will it kill him?”
Obviously misinterpreting the nature of my question, Cyrus chuckled. “Go ahead, take his life if you’d like. Or, let him live and we’ll play with him later. Whatever you prefer.”
When I hesitated, he reached over me to lay a lethally sharp fingernail against Ziggy’s exposed throat. “Do you want me to cut him for you?”
I sensed his impatience through the blood tie and by the way his legs rubbed restlessly against mine. If he knew who Ziggy was, if he knew why I couldn’t feed from him…
No. I could do this. All I needed to do was show Cyrus I was willing to perform the act. Even just a few drops would prove that. Then he wouldn’t hurt me or Ziggy.
Yes, I could do this. To protect Ziggy’s life, I could hurt him.
I ran my tongue over my fangs. I hadn’t even felt the change take place. It was beginning to feel natural. I leaned close to Ziggy’s throat.
“Yes,” Cyrus hissed into my ear. He bunched a fistful of my gown in his hand, pulling it higher and higher until I felt his palm against my bare thigh.
Taking a deep breath for control, I bit down. I’d expected Ziggy’s body to stiffen beneath my mouth, but he didn’t react at all.
When the blood hit my tongue, I cried out with the most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced. The sensation was so overwhelming it took me a moment to realize I hadn’t felt it at all. It was Ziggy’s memory, seeping into me through his blood. His eyes opened and I saw through them as he collapsed, sated, against the bare mattress of his bed.
There was the click of a door opening, and Ziggy flipped onto his back, panic obliterating the peace that lingered from his climax. Nathan stood frozen in the doorway, covered in grime and soot from the fire. His eyes, clouded with fatigue, flamed to life with shock and sudden anger.
He was masturbating, so what? I thought, a little surprised at Nathan’s reaction. Then I saw the third person in the room, a young man Ziggy’s age, at the corner of the bed. He clutched the rumpled sheet to his naked body and rapidly tried to explain his presence before grabbing his clothes and pushing past Nathan.
I felt Ziggy’s shame, but also his strange relief at being found out and his embarrassment at the knowledge I saw everything he remembered.
I didn’t know he was coming upstairs, his thoughts whispered in my head. I didn’t know he’d be so mad. I should have told him. I want to go home.
I jerked my head back, clamping my palm over the wound I’d inflicted to stop the bleeding. When no blood oozed between my fingers, I lifted my hand. The bite was neatly closed, but a telling scar remained.
“What’s wrong?” Cyrus sat up and tried to slip his arm around me for support.
I pushed him away. “I can’t do this.”
His face contorted in anger, but he covered it quickly. “Why not?”
Quivering, I tried to pull down my skirt. “I can see his thoughts. I can feel his emotions.”
“Oh, is that all?” With a laugh that sounded more condescending than comforting, he pulled me into his arms. “Darling, that’s the best part.”
“I didn’t like it.” I tensed a little, testing the strength of his hold.
His arms tightened around me solidly enough to prevent me from running. He licked the shell of my ear, and I felt some of my forgotten desire return. “There, there, dearest. You did very well, for your first time.” His hand fell to my lap, seeking the hem of my skewed gown. “And the night is still young. There are plenty of other exciting things we can do.”
The touch of his cold hand, separated from my flesh only by the thin material of my panties, sucked the breath from my lungs. I opened my legs for him and reached back to loop an arm around his neck.
When I heard Ziggy make another soft groan, I snapped back to reality. “Wait, wait.”
“Now what’s wrong?” His annoyance was unmistakable this time. Cyrus swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, pulling his shirt off in one agitated motion. “Do we need scented candles and Barry White? How about mirrors on the ceiling?”
“Don’t be angry,” I said, a little tearfully, and I insisted to myself it was nerves and exhaustion that made me react in such a way. “This is just so…new.”
With a deep sigh, he removed his